


Becoming Less Defined

by silver9mm



Series: Built Another World [1]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Dark, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, Fisting, Hurt Dean Winchester, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Medication, Mental Illness, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Non-Consensual Bondage, Rape, Self-Harm, Slow Build, Unrequited Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, hints of destiel - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2014-08-21
Packaged: 2018-02-13 06:47:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 18
Words: 70,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2141112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silver9mm/pseuds/silver9mm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jared rolled his hips against Dean again, his breathing heavy and slow, half asleep. Dean tried to keep still, but not too still. Utter disinterest had the same consequences as fighting back. He’d be dragged back to fucking Alastair’s lab, shot full of sedatives and whatever else seemed appropriate and he’d spend the next twenty-four hours in a glazed stupour, half-hard and tripping, his head full of obscenities: memories, fantasies, fears. Hell. </p><p>He moved slightly onto his belly, stretched his leg out, gave Jared as much bodily contact as he could without leading him on. Jared made a contented noise and tangled his long legs through Dean’s and went back to sleep. Dean was not so lucky, but at least he wasn’t panicking anymore. He was sure that was a result of whatever he was being doped with on a daily basis, but it was hard to care. That was a side effect, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set about the same time as The French Mistake, mid-season 6.  
> [Soundtrack on 8tracks!](http://8tracks.com/silver9mm/4580272)  
> [On Youtube!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-VVp-tKqFNY&list=PLuB2rGbcqG9mj3O3U7IDm7tgn8Bapo4wf)  
> Title from the song Only by NIN

** Dean **

Dean opened his eyes. To a canopy.

_How drunk was I last night? I coulda sworn there were stains on the ceiling._ He blinked, looked again. _Yeah, canopy. Like, plum-coloured or something._

He rubbed his face, sniffed, coughed. _Alright, if this is a lady’s bed, why does it smell like a Douglas Fir?_

Like wind along the river.

Sun-warmed loam in an old-growth forest.

“What the fuck,” he groaned, sitting up. _Shit. So it’s not a chick’s room. Okay, that’s okay. At least it’s, like, clean. Not a junkie’s house. That’s a good start._

As quiet as possible, he slipped out of the bed. _Nice sheets. C’mon, Dean, concentrate. Fuck, I’m naked._

“Jensen?”

Dean turned, balanced back into a fighting stance before the sound of the voice sank in and he relaxed, just a little, automatically. Sam was standing in the doorway.

“Jesus fuck, Sam, what is—” He clipped his own words, staring. It looked like Sam, but his little brother never pulled his hair back into a ponytail. Would never, ever wear running shorts that small. At least, he hoped not. And Sam would never lift his upper lip at Dean like a wolf, and Sam definitely, _definitely_ , did not have half-inch long canines. Sharp ones.

Not-Sam’s eyes narrowed and his curled lip quivered. “Sam?” he growled. “Is that whose scent is on you? What have you done, Jensen?” The snarl disappeared and his head cocked, squinting. “Oh, honey, your _eyes_.”

He moved forward, hand out. Dean let him come. At the last moment before contact, Dean grabbed his wrist, jerked, tried to pull him in and pin him. He swore he heard a snarl just before light exploded behind his eyes. The cuff to the head sent Dean his knees and the man was on him instantly. He half expected to die right there. The shapeshifter or whatever this thing was wouldn’t let him live. He couldn’t think past the ringing in his head, couldn’t gain any purchase, any equilibrium. That forest/wind/river smell was suffocating. He flailed, was caught up in strong arms. Lifted. He struggled harder.

“Jen, just stop, huh? You probably forgot your medication while I was gone, is all. I didn’t think to ask last night.”

Dean felt himself settled on something soft. He was fighting unconsciousness, losing. When a foreign object slipped between his teeth, he bit down on it, but it was hard and he couldn’t pull back fast enough to avoid the splash of almond flavoured liquid that was squirted under his tongue.

Instant blackness.

His mouth was numb, floating around up there somewhere with his head, his toes a mile in the other direction. Voices. Sam. No, Not-Sam. Worried, talking fast. Someone else, a man with a strange nasal voice and a sing-song way of talking that annoyed Dean immediately. A woman, but she only said 'yes' and 'no' and 'of course'. Her voice made the room spin, and Dean concentrated on the fact she must be moving around him, not the other way around.

“But, could that happen so fast? I was only gone four days.”

“It’s hard to say, Jared. You know Jensen is… _peculiar_. His psychosis is rather extreme. There _have_ been cases of psychosomatic omega-reversal or Betaing. Rarely, but it does happen, and you know he takes on traits of his other personalities very intensely. He might be one for the medical books. Vitals, Charlene?”

“Normal, Doctor.”

“You should _really_ let me take him, Jared.”

“No.”

“If he’s violent again?”

“I’ll bring him in. Should I schedule?”

A little hissing laugh. “Oh, of course not. You are top priority! Here, more sedatives. I doubled his antipsychotics for a week. And a hormone enhancer, every day. If it doesn’t do the trick, we’ll start him on replacement therapy.”

There were questions about the medications, and the relief was obvious in Sam’s—no, no—this _Jared’s_ voice. It was louder, which meant he was closer to Dean, and Dean may as well have been glued down for all he wanted to move and could not.

“Charlene! Come now.”

“Yes, Doctor. Goodbye, Jared.”

“Thank you, Charlie. Thanks again, Alastair. I’ll call you.”

_Alastair. Oh, fuck._

The sound of doors opening and closing. The bed—Dean guessed—tilted and he used every bit of control he had to slit his eyes open.

“Hey, honey. Everything’s going to be okay now, I promise. I’m sorry I left you. I should’ve fuckin’ known better, but you were doing so well this summer. It’s not your fault, though.”

Dean could just see Jared, could feel it when his heavy hand covered his heart. Dean tried to take a deep breath, found it easier than before, moved his tongue in the syrup-sweet confines of his mouth.

“Dean,” he slurred.

“What?”

“I’m _Dean_.”

“Okay, honey, yeah. You’ve got Dean’s green eyes, that’s for sure. I miss the brown ones, though. How about you go to sleep, huh? I’ll be right here.”

The suggestion was too strong to be ignored.


	2. Chapter 2

** Sam **

Sam heard Dean’s footsteps before he saw him. He didn’t put his paper down, knowing Dean was less than communicative before he’d poured coffee down his throat. After a moment, Sam realised he hadn’t heard the clinking of cups, the rattling of Bobby’s coffee pot, Dean’s coughs and usual morning grunts and groans. He folded the paper, looking around. What he saw of Dean was no more than a blur as his brother darted off. Sam hadn’t gotten a very good look at him, but there had been something…strange. He stood and followed.

“Dean?” he called. “Hey, man, what’s the deal?”

There were thumps and bangs as his brother careened around the house, managing somehow to stay a room ahead of him, but twice around the bottom floor left only one door to go through, and Sam heard Dean clatter down the basement stairs.

There was the strangest scent in the air. Bobby’s house never smelled like coconut. Like honey and melted butter.

“Dean, what the hell?”

Sam blinked in the darkness, listening. A small shuffle and Sam tracked him. His older brother was crouched under the stairs, barely visible in the gloom.

“The fuck are you doing?”

“Jay? Is it really you? Where are we?”

“Um, what?”

“Oh, no. Oh, I’m dreaming.”

“Come on. Stop being weird, Dean.”

 _“Stop calling me that_!”

Sam had never once heard his brother shriek that way, never imagined he even could. There was so much panic in the sound, so much hurt and fear. Sam retreated, shocked. He kept his eyes on the dark figure as best he could, retraced his steps and found a table with a desk lamp on it. It offered little light, but it was pointed in the right direction. Moving slowly, he circled around to face Dean again.

There was no way this was his brother. The creature under the stairs had Dean’s form, yes, but knew nothing of the way Dean held himself. Dean was shoulders back, head up, face the danger. This thing was in a ball, wrapped around itself, shaking. Dean was never this wide-eyed. What was wrong with its eyes, anyway? They were dark. Black?

“What the fuck are you?”

“I’m your omega, Jay! Please, what is going on? Why don’t you smell like you?”

“You’re not my brother.”

The hysteria was palpable. “What? No! Jared, where are we?”

Sam ran his hands through his hair, trying to think. Had he heard the creature right? Omega? He wracked his brain. Nothing came to mind. The thing didn’t seem dangerous, but it could be deceiving him. The eyes were disconcerting, but as Sam’s vision adjusted, he could see the whites around the dark irises. He crouched down.

“Where’s my brother? Where’s Dean?” he asked as calmly as he could.

“I don’t know! You don’t _have_ a brother named Dean. Mike, Gabe—”

“Okay. What the fuck? Okay, then. What’s your name?”

“Jay, please… It’s me, Jensen.”

“Jensen. And you think I’m who?”

The answer couldn’t have been more surprising.

“My mate. Jared.”

“Fuck.”

“Jay, where are we?”

“Okay, look. I need you to come out of there first. Can you do that?”

The creature nodded. Warily, it wriggled free of the boxes and beams and it did indeed look just like Dean. At a glance, anyway. It was paler, its hair a little longer and brushed across its forehead, and the eyes were brown, now that Sam could see better.

“Jensen,” Sam started, using his best caring voice, “I’m not Jared. No, wait, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“You’re messin’ with me.”

“No, really, I’m not. I have a brother. His name is Dean, and he looks exactly like you. I’m thinking I must look like this Jared, right?”

A little nod. Frightened eyes beginning to tear up, shining.

“Jared’s your, what, boyfriend?”

“My mate. My Alpha,” the creature whispered, hugging itself.

“Um. Okay. Are you…human?”

“What? Of course I am. Jay—I mean, what—”

“I’m Sam.”

“Sam. Where am I? Where is Jared?”

“I’m guessing he’s wherever my brother is. I think you two must have switched places.”

The babbling that started was almost impossible to follow. “I can’t, the heat, my medication, have to get back, need Jared, get sick, help me—”

“Whoa, Jensen, hey. I’ll help you, okay? I need you to do some things for me, though.”

Jensen’s mouth snapped shut and he nodded, peering up at Sam helplessly.


	3. Chapter 3

** Dean **

_He was in Hell again. Alastair circled his body—what was left of it. He could feel ribbons of his own skin fluttering in the cold wind, could hear the horrible, wet sound his blood made as it dripped, one endless drop at a time. Gobbets of his flesh were stuck to the walls. The scraping of the blades against the tile was a thousand times worse than nails on a chalkboard, and they rattlesnaked ever nearer as Alastair closed in, dragging the scourge._

_“You’re mine, Dean. Forever and ever and always. But I think I have been going about this wrong.”_

_Dean heard the whip clatter to the ground. He opened his remaining eye, sucked a breath in through his clenched teeth, through the hole in his cheek. Alastair glided towards him, or drew Dean to him; he could never be quite sure how physics worked here._

_“Pain is your bread and butter isn’t it, hunter? Yes. But pleasure. **Intimacy**. That’s what really confuses you. That’s what frightens you.”_

_The room came alive around him. Demons of all shapes and sizes seemed to peel off the walls, take form, and advance on him. They were naked, grotesque and aroused and eager. They flickered in and out of their human forms as they touched him. They pulled, ripped, beat him down from where Alastair had hooked him, and the first one to force itself onto him, into him, made him scream._

_It didn’t hurt._

_When it was over, Dean was crying, something he’d not done since the first day in Hell._

_By the end of the second day of this new torture, Dean asked Alastair for the whip._

He opened his eyes, but the scream had a will of its own. He struggled to free his hands, to clap them over his mouth, but they were pinned and even as he fought, what was holding them tightened.

“Hey, Jenny, shh. It’s just a nightmare. C’mon, sweetheart, wake up.”

 _Oh, right. A whole new Hell._ “I’m fine,” Dean gritted. He allowed Jared to pull him closer only because there was no use fighting him. He bit his tongue, took a deep breath through his nose and concentrated on slowing his heart.

Two months had gone by like a never-ending fall off a cliff since he’d first woken up in this same bed, and he’d learned many things. First and foremost, Jared was strong. Like, crazy hulk-strong and since Dean had no desire to be manhandled about like a child he usually let Jared have his way. Usually. He’d learned Jared had some decency, as well.

Dean accepted the kisses to the back of his neck without reacting because he knew that’s as far as it would go. Jared had tried for more, but Dean _had_ fought him then, wholeheartedly, and Jared had backed off, looking wounded and confused, and if Sam had looked at him like that Dean would have relented, would have given his brother anything he wanted.

But this was _not_ Sam.

Dean was allowed time to himself and had figured out how to use the computer easily enough. So much of this world was the same, but the differences were pronounced. He closed his eyes and tried with all his might to ignore Jared’s dick pressing against his ass, the pictures of Alphas in full arousal he’d found in the online encyclopedia burned into his brain.

The cultural dynamics he was expected to live by were ridiculous, but for now he played along as best he could. He understood what was expected of him as an ‘omega’: to be docile, domestic, available. Support the Alpha. Make nice, be submissive. Jared was in control, Jared made the rules. And since Dean didn’t know the rules of this switcheroo he was tangled up in, he couldn’t kill anyone. If Jared died, maybe Sam would die wherever he was. Alastair was alive here, but he was a demon where Dean was from, so he had to factor in the possibility that that made a difference. _And_ since there was no magic here, wherever the fuck here was, Dean had yet to come up with a single way to get himself out of this Stepford insanity, and prayed with all he was worth that Sam was having better luck. As for praying, that did him no good at all. Cas either couldn’t or wouldn’t hear him. He hoped it was couldn’t. The angel was on his mind a lot for some reason.

Jared rolled his hips against Dean again, his breathing heavy and slow, half asleep. Dean tried to keep still, but not too still. Utter disinterest had the same consequences as fighting back. He’d be dragged back to fucking Alastair’s lab, shot full of sedatives and whatever else seemed appropriate and he’d spend the next twenty-four hours in a glazed stupor, half-hard and tripping, his head full of obscenities: memories, fantasies, fears. Hell.

He moved slightly onto his belly, stretched his leg out, gave Jared as much bodily contact as he could without leading him on. Jared made a contented noise and tangled his long legs through Dean’s and went back to sleep. Dean was not so lucky, but at least he wasn’t panicking anymore. He was sure that was a result of whatever he was being doped with on a daily basis, but it was hard to care. That was a side effect, too.

When Jared woke several hours later and began to ready himself for work, Dean watched him. Jared moved about the room with ease, and, in the semi-darkness, Dean pretended he was Sam. He had to keep thinking of his brother, had to keep his mind focused on home, otherwise he found himself slipping into a routine; one that kept Jared happy, made him praise this Jensen with words and caresses and kisses. But in the early morning gloom, Dean could squint, could imagine himself with his brother in a shitty motel, grumpy and hungover from actual booze, wishing Sam would just go the fuck for his run already, and Dean could drum up ‘happy’ for a moment. The moment would fade, of course. Sam would shift with no warning back into Jared and the Alpha would touch his face, kiss his shoulder, tell him to be good and that he would call later, and then Dean was left alone in a strange place, on a strange world, a stranger to himself more and more.

He’d tried escaping. The first time he’d done it in a panic, at night when Jared was there and Jared caught up with him after just a couple of blocks, brought him kicking and fighting back to the house. Alastair had shown up a half hour later and Dean had spent the next two days fighting the sheets. He’d done it again as soon as he could stand on his own, but Jared caught him then, too. It took longer that time. Half a day and Dean had been on the other side of the city. San Antonio was big, and hot, and Dean decided he hated Texas whatever planet it was on, but it was populated enough he thought he might have a chance to blend in, get lost, figure out a way to disappear. The cars were different here and he _hated_ that, couldn’t figure out how to jump one, couldn’t get to the wires or under the hood. Probably fingerprint protected or some space age shit.

He’d just finished pissing in an alley when the smell of moss hit him, the scent of wet trees and loam and pitch and he’d spun around, knowing it was too late. Jared had him by the throat, teeth bared.

“Jensen, what the fuck is going on?” he demanded, shaking Dean. All he could do was clutch at Jared’s wrist to keep from getting whiplash. “Alastair wants you back in for ECT, do you know that? Remember how much that fucking hurt?”

Dean couldn’t breathe, couldn’t reply.

“I don’t want to do that to you, baby, but I will if this keeps up. Come on.” Jared’s eyes softened, his hand relaxed around Dean’s throat and he pulled him into his arms. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I was just scared. You can’t be out here by yourself; don’t you remember _that_ , at least? I was so worried something was going to happen to you! I followed you, could smell your fear. I can’t stand it, can’t stand that you’re so unhappy, so afraid. Please, just let me take care of you? Trust me, Jen, I love you.”

Dean had allowed Jared to take him back, and had done his best to keep him happy, to keep away from Alastair. For a few days. He took his medicine; always supervised, and there was no way to fake it. The liquid evaporated in his mouth almost instantly and Jared gave him a shot once a week. He let Jared pet him and worry over him, but he couldn’t help hissing at him and begging for more time, some space, whenever Jared got too friendly, and it was that which motivated him to escape one last time. Jared never found out about the final attempt.

Just two mornings ago, Dean had waited until Jared left for the day to his law office downtown and had set up a brisk pace in the opposite direction, determined not to waste any time, to just hoof it as far as he could, as fast as he could. He got maybe two miles. The morning traffic had increased steadily, more and more people out on the streets, and Dean couldn’t ignore that he wasn’t being ignored. Heads were turning in his direction. People, both men and women, were coming to a complete stop as he neared them, mouths opening, heads tilting up, and Dean realised they were smelling him.

He tried walking off the sidewalks, keeping the cars parked on the street between him and pedestrians, but a cop stopped him. A cop shoved him against a mailbox. A cop, heavily muscled and long-fanged, tried to force him into his car. It was only Dean stammering out Jared’s name finally, repeating that he was a lawyer, that got the cop to let him go, and Dean turned around and went straight back to the house. The cop’s scent had been so strong, like black licorice and spiced rum, and Dean’s cock had thickened despite his fear and anger, and he knew then he was well and truly screwed.

His own chemistry was working against him.

He knew it was the shots. The hormone replacement therapy. Because of his green eyes, ‘Doctor Alastair’ was convinced he’d thrown a rod or something and was no longer an omega, that he’d stopped producing the hormones that made him into a breeder, and now he was being transformed back. Dean understood vaguely from commercials back in his reality; like broads needed estrogen when they hit menopause or whatever, or lost their ovaries.

He wasn’t brown-eyed like this Jensen, like all other omegas he’d read about, so he had to undergo treatment. He’d protested that heartily which had earned him restraints, more sedatives, a week of lost time. When he woke, the treatment had already begun, and he knew it with his first conscious breath. The strange way everyone smelled at first was a hundred times more intense now, as if each of these creatures was a freakin’ scented candle. The threat of more sedatives and more restraints had cowed him. He couldn’t fucking stand it, being so out of control, at the mercy of those around him. He’d had enough of that in his life. Drugs would wear off, hormones could be flushed out. When he got home.

Now, he lay and watched Jared finish dressing and didn’t bother tensing when he came over and knelt beside the bed, didn’t try to not listen when he muttered about loving him, missing him today, and turned his head so Jared could kiss his lips. He might have kissed him back, even. And then he was alone. His cock thumped against his leg. He did try to ignore that, but he couldn’t. He rolled. Towards Jared’s side of the bed. The scent there was cool, soothing. He felt feverish, and for some reason Jared’s pillow was like a damp cloth against his face.

He nuzzled into it, his stomach a hot pit, his cock jumping, Jared’s face blurring with Sam’s, indistinguishable almost. Cas flickered by. Even his mother, his father. There was a woman, too, she had dark hair. Like Sam’s. Like Jared’s. His hand found a way between the bed and his body, gripped his cock, knuckles against his belly. He liked that, liked twisting his hand around so his fingertips could brush along the sensitive underside. He rocked his hips into his fist, finding a rhythm. He wanted to come. Had to think clearly. Had to keep trying to get home. He began to sweat, his grip almost painful. It felt good, the pressure, the pull, but something was missing. There was an emptiness, a dark spot, a heaviness in his chest. Sam’s eyes. Jared’s. Like looking up through trees at the sky. Blue, green, gold.

A spasm of pleasure, but not enough. Not what he wanted. What he needed.

He let go of himself and curled up.


	4. Chapter 4

** Sam **

Jensen was rather brave about the tests run on him, Sam thought. Sipped holy water, passed over salt, hid a scared smile behind his hand when Sam spoke Latin at him. That he had the anti-possession tattoo on his chest gave Sam pause, but Jensen insisted he’d had it for years. It didn’t mean anything to him, was just an interesting design he’d seen somewhere. Couldn’t quite remember where, though.

The silver blade was the only thing he resisted.

“Jay’s gonna be mad if he sees me cut,” he said, backing away, rubbing his hand over his upper arm absently. Sam noticed the movement, understood.

“We’ll just do it on a fingertip, then? You coulda papercut yourself. He won’t notice, I bet.”

Biting his bottom lip, Jensen nodded finally and held his hand out. Sam chose the pad of his thumb. The kid—and that’s how Sam found himself thinking of Jensen, even though he was obviously the same age as Dean, older than Sam, there was something so childlike about him, so innocent and young—gasped when the blade nicked his flesh, but that was all.

What he told Sam about where he was from seemed to indicate it was indeed a world similar—if not nearly identical—to this one. Sam questioned him, but there hadn’t been any strange activity around him. He’d been alone for four days, having only seen his doctor, who’d made a housecall once.

“Why did your doctor come?”

“Filled my prescriptions. He always does it himself.”

“Um, can I ask? What are the prescriptions for?”

Without embarrassment, Jensen answered, “Antipsychotics. Sleeping pills. Anxiety mends.”

“Mends?”

“Medication. Call ’em mends. It’s silly, but whatever works, right?” Then he frowned, fidgeted. “It’s going to be bad.”

Sam was nervous already. “Yeah. I know you’re not supposed to go off some meds all at once. Do you know the names of them? Maybe they’re the same here?”

They weren’t, but Sam set him up with the computer and left him to look at different symptoms and treatments, hoping he could recognise something familiar. He offered to make Jensen food but the kid shook his head, biting his nails. Sam moved to a corner of the room, sipped his cold coffee and watched the strange creature.

That he looked so much like Dean was unnerving. They were physically similar in muscle mass, but Sam could see a softness to Jensen that Dean just didn’t have. Jensen’s build was from exercise, not from battle. His endurance was probably shit, but he was more flexible than Dean. He curled himself onto the kitchen chair almost impossibly, making as small a target of his body as possible. He had Dean’s concentration, though, unable to keep his eyes on the screen for any length of time. He looked around, glanced out the window, chewed his lip as he stared off into space, then a noise would make him jump and he would blink rapidly before going back to his search.

“You have brown eyes,” Sam said, not meaning to.

Jensen glanced up at him. They were the colour of chocolate syrup, but flecked with a gold that caught the sunlight, refracted, spat greens and reds and blues back out.

“All omegas do.”

“Oh. Jensen, what exactly _is_ an ‘omega’?”

“A sub-class. There are Alphas, Betas, and omegas.”

“Okay, but why? Are you like, workers? Or, I just don’t understand.”

“It’s our sex.”

“Oh.” Sam tried not to blush, probably failed. “Um, what’s the difference?”

“Alphas and omegas are the only ones who can produce children. Omegas are rare, which keeps the population in control. Alphas and omegas form pair-bonds. Lifelong, usually. There’s one perfectly matched Alpha for every omega, but we don’t always find each other.”

“How do you know if you do?”

Jensen smiled, and it was the most beautiful expression Sam had ever seen on anyone’s face, and that it was on his brother’s face was almost painful. “You just do. It’s the scent, and, and a sensation. It’s peace and safety and joy.”

Sam tried to speak, cleared his throat, tried again. “I take it you and Jared..?”

“He’s my Alpha. It’s a miracle we found each other, but he followed my scent. Tracked it on my doctor.”

So many questions. Sam dug his hand into his hair and pulled lightly, trying to order his thoughts.

“Scent. Right. I could smell something strange this morning. You said I smelled weird when you thought I was Jared.”

Jensen’s eyebrow lifted. “You can smell me?”

“Yeah, I guess. I mean, I can’t now. Maybe I got used to it?”

“What was it like?”

Flustered suddenly, Sam found himself moving forward. “Like ice cream. Or this suntan lotion my girlfriend—Jess—would wear.” He stopped.

Jensen was looking up at him, his neck craned back because Sam was nearly on top of him. His dark, thick lashes obscured those insanely coloured eyes for a moment and he took a deep breath before speaking. “Your scent is nice. Citrus. Cool. And very spicy. I like it. I can smell your brother on you, too. His is like…chopped wood. Smoke from the brush pile when we’d have bonfires in the autumn when I was a little kid.”

“I think you just described his favourite kind of whisky,” Sam said, his voice low and rumbling in his chest.

Jensen smiled again, sweetly, knowingly. 

Something Jensen said finally sunk in and Sam took a step back. Why was it so difficult to move away? He forced himself to take another. “You said, uh, children. Breeding? You’re male, though. Aren’t you?”

The little smile didn’t change. “Yes to both. I am male. I can also have children.”

“You haven’t, though?”

At that, the smile did waver, but didn’t fade entirely. “No. I don’t think I will, either.”

 _Why do I care so much?_ “Why not?”

Jensen gestured at the computer. “Because I’m crazy. We agreed it might not be the best thing. Sometimes I can’t even care for myself…”

“Oh. I. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, Sam,” Jensen said softly. The smile was almost invisible, and his shining eyes were sad, but he squared his shoulders. Like Dean. “I can’t find anything that’s right, that’ll match what I am on. There’s something else, though. I don’t just take mends. There’s my hormone therapy.”

“What… What for?”

Another smile, more like flashing teeth. “’S why I don’t leave the house without Jared. Something’s skewed with me. Attracts Alphas. Omegas are only supposed to go into heat three times a year. Mine’s sporadic, sometimes doesn’t happen at all, or happens way more often. Kind of distracting for others, you know? No, I don’t suppose you do.” Jensen gave him a peculiar, searching look, then shrugged. “I sort of radiate to other Alphas, like an invitation, even with suppressants, but I don't take those anymore. Jared protects me.”

Sam’s mouth was dry. He swallowed dust and bit his cheek to get some saliva. The urge to flee came suddenly. He nodded as if he could relate and backed away more. “I, um, I have to go check something, okay? Keep—keep looking. Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Apparently what he needed to check was the colour of the sky outside. He didn’t stop moving until he was near the far end of the junkyard, and even then he needed a few minutes of staring up into it before he could think clearly. He took a deep breath and realised he hadn’t gotten used to Jensen’s scent so much as it had permeated everything. Now, the smell of rust on the cars, motor oil, a field in the distance being hayed, stank by comparison. But he could reason again.

Sam couldn’t believe the direction he’d let things go in. Normally, this kid would be the bottom priority. He’d already have called Bobby, started researching, at least asked Jensen important questions, not ones about his…his whatever. And Cas! He would help. Sam closed his eyes and prayed.

His phone rang.

“Sam. I heard you.”

“Cas, I’m at Bobby’s. Dean’s gone.”

“Gone where?”

“I don’t know! Cas, can you please just get here?”

“Of course. Hello, Sam.”

Sam jumped, like he did every time Castiel appeared inches from his face. Cas wrinkled his nose and took a step back.

“Sam, why do you smell of oleum?”

“What?”

“It’s a function angels have in our true form, a grooming agent for our wings. You smell like it.”

“Jensen’s an angel?”

“What’s a Jensen?”

“Come on, I’ll show you.”

He led Cas to the house. Inside, he panicked slightly when Jensen wasn’t at the table anymore, but he followed his nose and located him in the living room. He was curled on the couch, biting his nail, staring at a picture of Bobby taken out front by the salvage yard sign. He pointed at the picture when he heard Sam come in the room.

“That’s Rob. He raised me when my mom died in that fire. He died of a brain aneurysm when I was eight. Is everyone here a copy of everyone there?”

“Uh, Jensen, this is Castiel. He’s a friend, and he’s going to help sort this all out.”

Jensen looked up at him. His lips twitched and he covered them with his hand, but his eyes betrayed him. The giggle was unmistakable as well.

“Sam, are you off your mends, too?”

“What? Cas, Jensen’s Dean’s double from, I don’t know, somewhere.”

“Who are you talking to?” Jensen and Cas both said.

Sam’s jaw dropped. He turned to Cas, pointing at Jensen on the couch.

“You can’t see him? Seriously? He’s a freakin’ cookie-cutter Dean, right there on the couch.”

“I like cookies,” Jensen quipped.

Castiel was staring up at Sam owlishly. His words were careful and almost angry. “Sam, you should have called me immediately. I know where Dean is.”

“You do? That’s great! How do we get him back? Can you go get him?”

“I’m afraid I can’t. It’s…rather embarrassing, really. Not the best moment for angelkind.”

“Sam?”

“Jensen, just wait!” Sam barked at him.

Jensen flinched. Then he slowly, carefully, slid from the couch onto his knees, put his hands over his ears and curled into a ball, forehead to the floor.

Sam stared, incredulous.

“Sam?”

“Cas, gimme one second okay? Please?” He led Castiel by the arm back into the kitchen.

“Just wait here. Don’t go anywhere.”

Castiel opened his mouth to protest but Sam was already in the other room.

“Hey,” he called gently as he approached Jensen’s balled-up form.

The kid’s fingers were flexing slightly and Sam realised he probably couldn’t hear him through the pressure over his ears. He knelt down and touched him lightly. Jensen growled, feral and frightened. Sam tried to pry one of his hands away, but Jensen curled his fingers in his hair and refused to budge. He was much stronger than he looked. Stronger than Dean even: his body coiled steel. A spring is what Sam was afraid of, wondering what was coming next. He pushed the coffee table back and sat next to Jensen, one hand on the kid’s waist, low, by his hip, and he waited.

Several minutes went by and there was no change. Then Sam felt a slight tremor through his palm and Jensen started rocking, almost imperceptibly, side to side. He moved his hand slowly up Jensen’s body, wishing vaguely that he could get under his shirt. Just for the warmth, comfort. When he neared one clutching hand, he brushed it with his pinky, lightly, and again. Jensen’s fingers relaxed, wiggled, sought out Sam’s, curled around the digit and Sam carefully eased the hand away.

“Jensen?”

“Jared, this is bad. I don’t wanna be here. Please don’t be mad at me. I can’t stop this. I’ve been trying.”

“I know,” Sam winged. “Don’t worry, okay? I’ll help.”

“Stay with me.”

“I won’t leave you, Jen, but I have to go in the other room. I have to check on something that will help you, okay? You can stay right here if you want, or sit back up, but don’t go anywhere else.”

Jensen whimpered, a tiny, piteous sound, his hand already dragging to his ear. Sam let him go, stroked his back one more time and got to his feet. He moved away and then stopped to watch, making sure Jensen wasn’t going to dart off, but the kid was stone. He was wearing Dean’s clothes, Sam noticed for the first time. Jesus, what if they’d switched and showed up naked? Dean would not be happy with that situation.

Castiel was standing exactly where Sam had left him, glaring into space.

“This is not good,” Cas gritted when Sam returned.

“Tell me about it.”

“I will. If I’m right, and you’re not insane, there’s a being in there,” he pointed to the living room, “that looks just like Dean, but isn’t.”

“Correct, Cas.”

“Considering the way you now smell, and since I cannot see him, and there’s only one place in all the universe angels are not allowed to go, to see, have any contact with, and this is a very big universe, Sam, then the Dean in there—”

“Jensen.”

“Jensen is from a parallel dimension. Dean’s where Jensen is supposed to be.”

“I get that. But how, why, and what do we do to get him back?”

“How, I don’t know. That place is supposed to be without magic. It does not seem feasible that in a world without magic or angels or demons someone would know how to do this. Perhaps someone here ushered the switch. Why is a mystery thus far, as well. What to do about it, I am also not sure.”

“Great. But you know where he is, at least?”

“He’s in the one spot I cannot see, yes.”

Sam’s brain was whirling.

Castiel sighed, looking more uncomfortable than he normally did. Blue eyes off to the side as if humiliated, he said, “When God unfolded his plan, it was infinite, and it replicated, echoed through Creation. God created man, not just here but in many worlds, all copies of each other, all diverse, and God assigned angels to watch over all of them. We were not to interfere, but we did. Here, everywhere really, but nowhere more acutely than where Dean is. My brothers and sisters, who have long since been imprisoned or executed, experimented with the humans there.”

“Experimented?”

“Before man was fully evolved, they changed them. Altered their DNA, spliced in our Grace, and directed their development for their own ends.”

“What ends, Cas?”

“To be able to breed with them. To create life like only God can create. Angels are not capable of procreation, and some of them were very bitter about your species being intelligent _and_ able to create like God. Much like Lucifer became enraged over your ability to choose, those angels were angry that you could create children in the image of God. They desired the same. God was very busy, Sam, and didn’t notice it right away, and when it was realised it was too late, humanity there had changed unalterably. God punished the angels and shut the world off from all of us.”

“So you can’t just swoop down there and get Dean back, is what you’re saying?”

“Yes.”

“There has to be some way, Cas! You have to help me find it, find something!”

Cas looked pained. “I will do my best, Sam. There may be some angels still alive who remember what happened, or even some who were there. I will try to locate them.”

Sam scruffed his fingers through his hair, exhausted. It wasn’t even noon. “Thanks, Cas.”

“Of course, Sam. I would like Dean back, as well.”

There was a gust of wind and Sam wondered why he never noticed it smelled a little like carnations before, and Castiel disappeared.

Sam filled a glass with water and went back to Jensen. He was in the same place on the floor, but he didn’t jump this time when Sam touched him. Sam settled on the couch, put the glass where Jensen would see it when he decided to get up, and he scrounged up a notepad and pencil. He had so many questions. He filled the page and half of the next one with them before he leaned back and closed his eyes.

When he opened them, Dean was in his lap. No. Not Dean, though with his face relaxed, Jensen was almost identical to Sam’s missing brother. Sam kept still and looked. It was all in the upper lip, he decided. Dean always had this fierce determination to him, no matter what he was doing, and it pulled his upper lip tight. Jensen bit his, sucked the top back against his teeth to worry the inside, making his bottom lip appear even thicker than it was— _and how nice I’ve noticed that._ But asleep, their mouths soft and vulnerable, they were twins. No worry, no pain, guilt, rage, just his brother’s beautiful face.

_Beautiful. Oh, Sammy._

The phone rang. Jensen’s eyes snapped open and he was back on the floor, deaf before Sam could even move. He reached the wall of phones by the third ring.

“Sam?”

“Oh, thank God, Bobby.”

“Ah, crap. What have you knuckleheads done now?”

Bobby was even less thrilled about the new developments than Castiel, but he thought there was a book somewhere—‘the second stack closest to the corner in the hallway by the basement door’—that mentioned parallel pathworkings. Something about the moon’s energy, everything in the universe being connected, realities aligning, using the moon as a conduit. He was after La Llorona and couldn’t come back to help until children stopped disappearing, but he’d ring as often as he could.

At least it was something.

Sam brought the whole stack back with him to the living room and started flipping, marking pages, taking notes. Jensen didn’t stir from his huddle for another twenty minutes and Sam almost forgot he was there, but then the omega sat up and slammed his hand down on the table, making Sam and everything else jump.

“You better not be lyin’ to him!”

“Christ! Excuse me?”

“He’s had a hard enough time without you makin’ promises you can’t keep. Watchin’ his mommy burn up like that, you think that don’t wreck trust?”

“Jensen?”

“He’s not here right now. Asked me to answer the door.”

“Are you a demon?”

“A what? Are you a fucking wubbledeedoo?”

“Wha—who are you?”

“Ellen. The woman who lives next door. To a burnt hole in the ground now. Property value went down, thanks for asking. You’re cute,” Jensen said and made what Dean would call the blow job gesture, wiping at the corners of his mouth with his index finger and thumb. “Smell fuckin’ weird, though.” Jensen wrinkled his nose and pulled his long hair off his shoulder, or would have, if he had long hair.

“Is there anyone else, uh, home?” Sam guessed.

“Oh sure, kid’s gotta have friends, right? But I keep them in line. They’re playing right now. Joey’s made up a game, teaching Jensen in the garden.”

_Everyone here is a copy of everyone there. Ellen and Jo. Multiple personalities. Fucking fantastic. Not Dean, not even Jensen all the time._

Maybe they had information Jensen didn’t.

“What do you mean, making promises I can’t keep?”

Jensen—rather, Ellen—sucked her tooth and rolled her eyes. “Told him he could stay here. You don’t want him here, you just want your brother back.”

“He doesn’t want to go back?”

“Shit, son, would you?”

“I don’t know. Why wouldn’t he?”

“Scared, ’course. Tired of all this,” Ellen said, pointing at her head. “Crowded in here, even for a mother hen like me. He just wants to be himself, but no one will let him.”

“Do you know who Jared is?”

Jensen squinted at him, puzzled. “Well, ’course I do. Big lug means well, but he’s got Jenny all wrong. Thinks he’s all messed up in the head and heat, but it’s not his fault.”

“Alright, whose fault is it?”

“That sonofawhore doctor of his.”

“The one that brought his prescriptions?”

“Same. He’s a slimy piece, that Alastair.”

“ _What_?”

Ellen rolled her eyes again. “Al-as-stair,” she said slowly. “Boy, your head's as thick as it looks. You just be nice to Jensen, got me? It’s crowded in here,” she repeated. “I gotta start evicting folks. It’s time, and Jenny’ll be better for it.” A finger waggled in Sam’s face. “But don’t you go makin’ promises you don’t intend to keep. You listen to him, he knows what he wants, he just don’t think anybody gives a shit.”

She eyeballed him, then checked her watch. Jensen wasn’t wearing one.

“Gotta go. Let him sleep. Maybe I’ll talk to you later.”

“Wait!”

Jensen gasped and fell forward. Sam caught him, lifted him onto the couch. Unconscious, or asleep, he didn’t move again for hours.

Sam, head in one hand, the other flipping through books, was shaking. He couldn’t stop it.

Wherever Dean was, Alastair was there.

Sam was scared.


	5. Chapter 5

** Dean **

They’d gotten in another fight.

Dean had woken up from a nightmare again and Jared had tried to comfort him. Tried to fuck him. A lucky kick and Dean had shoved him out of bed onto his ass. Jared leapt on him, pinned him, one arm across Dean’s throat, pressing until Dean blacked out.

He woke up in a little room off the main bedroom, one that had been set up long ago by the looks of it, and had been used. Many times. It had been painted so often the walls were soft and thick with it and when Dean picked at it, there were layers of colours under the top, currently a dark blue. There was a little bunk that served as a bed. The mattress was nice, soft and comfortable, the room was climatised, just a bit cool and had air flow. There was no window. No mirror or glass of any kind. A small sink for water, plastic cups, and a curious little metal box that Dean eventually figured out was an incinerating toilet.

It was a prison, and Dean was going insane inside of it. He paced, he sat sullenly, he chewed his nails and pissed in the sink. He banged on the door. It was thick and metal and gave not in the least. He paced more.

_Dean._

“Cas?”

_He’ll never talk to you again._

“What? Who is that?”

_He doesn’t know about the colours. There are so many. He can see all of them._

“Wait, the colours on the wall? The paint?”

He stopped, listening closely. Maybe there was a vent and he was hearing Jared talk to someone about him. Or there was some power these people had that he was just now picking up on and he could hear them thinking? What were they trying to do to him with the colours?

When Jared opened the door the next day, Dean had ripped the top off the bunk and was hiding inside of it, the blankets over his head.

“Jensen? Honey, come out of there, please? I need you to take this.”

“I am _not J_ —oh, fuck it. I don’t wanna come out. I don’t wanna take the fucking poison. I want to see my brother. And stop with the colour therapy, okay?”

“Colour therapy?”

“The fucking room!” Dean shouted, balled up in the darkness, protected from the vibrations coming out of the walls.

“Babe, you picked the colour.”

“I—oh.”

“You don’t have a brother, Jen. Maybe one of your friends does, how about that? Please, please come take your medicine. I’ll let you come out of here if you don’t fight with me again, you know. I miss you.”

Dean peeked out of his blanket. “I can come out? No fighting. Don’t touch me.”

Jared’s lips twitched, but he nodded. Dean staggered out of his box, blinking in the light, and opened his mouth. Jared squirted the liquid under his tongue and put his arm out for Dean to take, if he wanted. He wanted, he hated it, but he wanted and needed it, the medication turning the floor to sand.

Jared was home late the next day. Dean was sitting at the kitchen island, eating pie with a spoon. If this was Hell, at least it had pie. Jared brushed his arm by way of greeting but pulled it back quickly.

“Sorry,” he murmured.

The voices had told Dean Jared hadn’t really been at work, that he was standing outside waiting for Dean to escape, and Dean had been so afraid of being put back in the room that he’d not even gone near the windows all day. He didn’t reply, shoveling in another bite of pie. Some kind of peach, he guessed.

Jared deposited his things on the counter, and Dean spotted a familiar bag.

“What’s that?” he said around a mouthful, panicking just a little.

“It’s for me. I haven’t been sleeping very well,” Jared said and smiled sadly. He picked a piece of crust from the pie. “Know it bothers you when I wake up, thought this might help. Sleeping pills.” He dusted sugar off his fingers and showed Dean the little red bottle.

“Not for me?”

“No, babe. But I talked to Alastair and he said we should just give you an extra half-dose for a little while, take the edge off, and you’ll be better soon.”

Dean threw up on the floor.

A week went by without incident. Jared was sleeping better, or at least he wasn’t groping Dean as much and Dean was able to roll to the edge of the bed and pretend he was alone some of the time.

But he didn’t really like being alone. He’d never _been_ alone. Sam had always been there, from his earliest memories. When Sam had gone off to Stanford and John had let Dean hunt by himself, he might have spent a night or two solo, but he usually found someone to shack up with. Girls, mostly. A guy once in awhile, though more often than not it was just for beer drinking, crashing on the couch. Occasionally, he’d been drunk enough, stoned enough to not worry that his dad would somehow find out, and he’d let some smooth barfly with broad shoulders and narrow hips and Lucky Strikes breath talk him into a blurred night of making out that left his lips raw from sharp stubble, his hips bruised from being bent over everything in the guy’s trashed apartment.

Or he’d hone in on a married man, the one in the bar staring off into space, job-required suit in disarray, tie crooked, wedding ring in a pocket but the callous from it obvious and he’d get into a shared lament over having-to this and that, nice-to-just-let-off-steam, I’ve-gotta-room-near-here, got-Call-of-Duty. And it would be like another hunt for him, learning how to manipulate the straightlaces open, nights that ended with him exhausted, drained in every way, the other man fumbling for his clothes, wiping his mouth, stumbling out, and Dean could pass out for a few hours content that someone else was as confused as he was. Satisfied that he was not alone.

When Dad had gone missing and Dean had gotten Sammy back—and that’s how he looked at it—he’d let most of that go. He kept his pipes clean with certified hotties, chicks he knew Sam wouldn’t be interested in but would grudgingly approve of anyway, but he preferred to sleep on the floor of an abandoned house with his little brother nearby more than anything. It was only with Sam that he could be himself. Anyone else left him with a hole inside, a pit of anxiety and restlessness, a homesickness so acute he found he couldn’t stay around another person very long or they’d start asking that stupid question: “What’s wrong?”

 _You are,_ he wanted to say. _You’re not Sam._

Jared shifted behind him and Dean tensed, but Jared just rolled over. The covers fluttered and Dean felt a wave of heat hit his skin from under them, from Jared. _Fever?_ he wondered, concerned despite himself. He softly touched an outstretched wrist. Yeah, his skin was hot. Dean lifted his head and moved a little closer. Jared’s hair was slick with sweat and sticking to his cheek. Jensen would’ve wiped it back.

He felt bad for Jared. He _was_ an awful lot like Sam. Too serious, too caring, too cautious. They had the same concerned voice, which irritated Dean endlessly. Jared was what Sam had given up on, a lawyer of some sort, defense, which didn’t surprise Dean. Sticking up for the bad guy because they weren’t always bad. They both had a good heart.

_Put up with us, don’t they?_

Jensen was insane. Dean had gathered that quick enough. He’d tried to be as calm and reasonable as he could when he was able to talk again. The drugs given to him the first time had fucked him up big time for several days, and Jared had even looked concerned when he’d finally come around. These beings had a stronger constitution, Dean figured. But no matter what he’d said, for instance about his anti-possession tattoo (which Jared has merely shrugged and said he’d had before they met), how much detail he’d related about his world, how much he’d begged, pleaded, bargained, all he’d gotten from Jared was a sad, determined look, and more drugs. More trips to see fucking Doctor Alastair.

Dean had tried to kill Alastair, of course, had thought _Fuck it_ and lunged across the room at him, but Jared had caught him and he’d been doped. He didn’t do it again, but he swore as Jared had tackled him he’d seen a sort of glee in Alastair’s watery eyes. He kept his mouth shut around the sinister twin of the demon who’d tortured him, who’d turned him into a torturer in Hell; Dean tried to keep his mind sharp and clear, tried to find any detail to help him understand why this was happening and how to get out of it, but Jensen’s life didn’t allow for that. The drugs were strong and debilitating, and he suspected were actually _making_ him crazy, too.

But even that thought was hard to hold on to. His memory was slipping, blurring. Pictures of Jared and Jensen together, the stories Jared would sometimes tell him while he was nearly comatose about things he thought the man lying there and he had done together, were filtering into and muddling up memories of him and Sam.

And as the weeks turned into months and the seasons changed and Dean still tried to talk about his own life, tried to convince Jared he wasn’t who he thought he was, he found to his horror the stories were merging, tangling, and he couldn’t separate them anymore. Jared seemed pleased with this new development, and Dean couldn’t be angry anymore. Jared loved his mate, hated seeing him confused, and the less Dean talked about who he really was and the more he was saturated by Jared’s expectations and memories of Jensen, the happier Jared was. Jared loved Jensen, and Dean was apparently enough like him to be loved the same.

And some days, he was content with that.

Dean carefully got out of bed, padding to the bathroom to piss. He stopped to splash his face and in the glow of the tiny night light, he looked at himself, and his stomach dropped. He flipped on the switch, rubbed his eyes until he could see and leaned in close to the mirror. Rubbed them again, looked again.

The iris of his right eye was brown.

Jared took him to Alastair’s the next morning.

“Well, the replacement therapy is working!” Alastair said, perched on the edge of the desk of his lavish office.

Dean assumed he was smiling. He refused to look up, concentrating instead on the odd lamp Alastair had on his desk. He was pretty sure it was salt, about a six pound chunk of it, lit up from the inside. It was blue and cast a soft, radiant glow. Soothing.

He needed to be soothed. He’d had enough of Alastair in the first minute of his exam, and it had lasted nearly twenty. His saliva had been scraped and bottled, his piss captured, his organs palpated and his taint jabbed at. Light was shined in his eyes, Alastair humming and nodding and, Dean swore, staring. At him, his face, his lips, into his eyes long after he’d taken the light away, until Dean had felt sick inside, had jerked away. Jared rumbled a warning, but Dean sat on his hands and the tension eased.

“He’ll need to be watched closely, of course,” Alastair spoke to Jared as if Dean weren’t present. It had pissed him off at first, but he’d learned not only was that how omegas were generally treated, he also had a hard time controlling his anger around Alastair and it was best to just ignore him.

“He’s been more submissive lately?”

Jared must have nodded.

“Now that the brain has been changed, the glands resaturated, the physical manifestations will develop. The colour will continue to come back to his eyes, the prostate enlargement and womb conditioning—”

Dean suddenly realised he could just kill himself. Himself or Alastair, and he couldn’t figure out a way to get to Alastair. Sam might work a spell or something to get him back and he would get nothing, or Dean’s rotting corpse, but then at least he would know. But what if killing himself meant Jensen would die? Kill an innocent person because he couldn’t hang? Just a little more time, then, a little while longer.

_C’mon, Sammy._

“—heat is inevitable, and I recommend knotting as soon as possible, re-marking him, too. As for his DID and schizophrenia, well,” Alastair paused meaningfully. _Fucking drama queen,_ Dean thought. “That’s up to you, Jared.”

“He doesn’t seem to be getting any better.”

“Any worse?”

“No,” Jared conceded. “But the drugs are hard on him. He sleeps most of the day, forgets things, gets very confused.” Dean felt himself reddening. “His friends, though—” Dean had figured out that was a euphemism for the multiple personalities Jensen apparently had. “There’s only one of them lately. A Dean—”

“Jared,” Alastair said, and the warning in his voice made Dean look up sharply. Alastair was looking right back at him, lips like mating snakes. “Best not to remind him.”

“It’s just so detailed this time. Not like the others…”

At Alastair’s suggestion, Jared led Dean into the antechamber so he and Alastair could discuss the crazy without upsetting the crazy.

Dean sighed loudly.

“It’s always a rough day at the office around here, huh, Jensen?” a female voice chirped from behind him.

He turned. A redheaded young woman in outrageously loud scrubs was leaning in the doorway of a little room. She had a paper mask pulled down around her neck and a hairnet stuffed in a pocket.

“I’m sorry..?”

“Charlie, Jen. I know you of old.” She winked a wide, silver-flecked brown eye at him and he vaguely thought she was quoting something.

“Charlie. Right. Housecall a while back. Um, sorry, I’m having trouble lately keeping things square.”

“It’s cool, bro!”

She was pretty, if unconventional, Dean decided. Pale skin, dark, flaming hair in two braids behind her ears, a big grin, high, sharp cheekbones. He took a few steps towards her.

“I actually know you from a _bit_ before then,” she continued.

“That so?”

“Yeah, you know, the ol’ ‘Inn’?”

“What?”

Her smile was patient, warm. “The institution! Remember, you’re all homeless and crazy, me there for some ‘therapy’ ’cause my bitch mother wanted grandbabies. Showed her, though.”

Closer to her, he suddenly stopped, frowning. She was root beer, he decided, but underneath that sweetness, she smelled like Alastair. Not in the share-an-office with him way; he could smell Alastair’s freezer burnt ice scent on her breath, through her clothes. They used the same shampoo. She saw the look on his face and cocked one neat, arched eyebrow.

“You’re Alastair’s omega?”

Her smile died. “Well, duh. Dang, Jenny, you’re having a bad week, aren’t you? C’mere.” She hooked an arm through his and led them to the chairs in the waiting area. “Let your pal Charlie tell you what you need to know, okay?”

By the time Jared emerged from Alastair’s office, Charlie was Dean’s new best friend. His oldest friend by her telling, and his only friend, really. He let Jared take his hand, refrained from giving Alastair the finger when he said goodbye, winked at Charlie, and was led to the car, lost in thought.

“Jared,” he said, once they were on their way back home. He barely bothered to speak up, the vehicles in this place eerily silent. Electric, sleek, light, Dean still didn’t understand how they worked, other than this world, without its dependence on oil, wars, and religion, had developed technology that would have them exploring deep space soon. _Alternative ten_ , he thought, _commandeer a rocket ship and fly back to Earth_. “Why were you ever Alastair’s lawyer?”

“Uh, malpractice. Settled out of court. You know that, Jen.”

“Yeah, alright, you may think I know that, but the truth is, I don’t, okay? Just let me ask questions and stop telling me I know this or that, because you said it yourself, I’m forgetting things.” He hadn’t meant to snap, but it was getting old.

Jared frowned, then he nodded. “Okay, babe. I’m sorry.”

“You found me with him?”

“Yeah. Well, not exactly. I mean, I just. Your scent. I caught it on him and I wouldn’t let it go. I showed up at the institution where he was working and tracked you from there. Brought you home.”

“Even though I was crazy?” Batshit, by Charlie’s telling.

At a stop, Jared looked over at him and Dean was startled to see tears in his blue-green eyes. “I couldn’t be without you, Jensen. Once I found you, I couldn’t leave you there.” He sniffed, concentrated on driving again. “Alastair was worried about letting you go, but you were mine, that much was obvious. And he owed me, so he helped me get you out of state care, taught me about your meds and your condition, and has been good to us ever since.”

“Omegas only bond once, right?”

Jared flashed him a confused look, but answered anyway. “Right. Unless their Alpha dies.”

“So,” Dean took a deep breath before continuing, the implications of what Charlie had said nauseating, familiar, “I wasn’t bonded to Alastair, then?”

“No! No, Jen, you weren’t. I don’t—” Jared hesitated and Dean watched him from the corner of his eye. The one that was still green. Jared gripped the wheel hard enough his knuckles went white, then he relaxed, wiped his hand over his mouth and blew sharply out of his nose as if clearing a scent away.

“He was taking care of you. And. And you two were close. Probably intimate, but you are _my_ omega,” he said quickly, “even he could see that. And he let you go accordingly. Without protest. He was only worried about your mental state, about getting the proper care. It was difficult for me to let you keep contact with him at first. But he knew your medical history from day one, and once he had his own practice and the top equipment, paid for so much research into issues like yours—I just want you to have the best, Jen. You’ve never asked about any of this before. Why now?”

Dean closed his eyes, dizzy and disgusted. He didn’t have an answer to Jared’s question, had no idea why Jensen wouldn’t have talked about this, and it didn’t really matter now. But he had a thread here, something he had snagged as Charlie filled in his history, and he wasn’t going to let it go. Was afraid of losing it, tenuous and vague as it was, its source not quite clear.

“Isn’t it weird that Alastair would bond with Charlie after I was gone? She was there with me the whole time. Why didn’t he, you know, claim her before then? Couldn’t he tell?”

“I don’t know, actually. Never thought about it, I guess. It is weird. But then, she was in there because she was attracted to other females.”

“So?”

“Omega females can’t procreate with Alpha females.”

“So?”

“It’s, uh, it’s not allowed. Not in the States, anyway. There are only so many omegas it’s kind of important to have breeding pairs.”

“Oh.”

“So maybe it wasn’t until Alastair fixed her, I don’t know, chemistry, that he caught her scent. Knew she was his.”

“Huh.” Dean balled his hands, but he had to know. “If the hormones work on me, we can have. We can, what you said, procreate?”

“We could,” Jared said cautiously. “We’ve agreed it might not be the best thing.”

“Oh. Okay. Good.”

He couldn’t tell if Jared was sad or relieved at his reaction, and made himself not care as hard as he could.


	6. Chapter 6

** Sam **

Jensen slept for almost twenty four hours after the Ellen episode. Sam had carried him to the bunk by the window, and set up station nearby so Jensen wouldn’t wake up alone when he did. In the meantime, he made progress. Depressingly little, but it was better than nothing. He found the ritual Bobby had remembered, but the ingredients for it were obscure and antiquated and he despaired of being able to find them. He called Cas again, this time on the cell phone, but got no answer, leaving Sam to fret.

Without Jensen interacting directly with him, his mind cleared some. _Who would do this_ ,was what he thought through first. The angels obviously couldn’t, and if they somehow had, Castiel would find out soon enough, but Sam highly doubted it was them. Cas had said demons couldn’t cross into that world either, but they were wily and determined, and knowing Alastair was alive there put a check next to his name on Sam’s list. Crowley wasn’t above suspicion, though Sam was sure he’d have come to gloat if he were to blame. Witches were suspect, but they hadn’t had a run-in with one of them for a long time. There were a few interdimensional creatures in the lore books, fairies being at the top of the list. Their recent encounter gave Sam a little bit of hope. Dean had disappeared from radar, but had somehow fought his way back, or been tossed out of wherever he was for being uncooperative. But he’d been in the fairy realm, not on some other earth. Or was there a difference?

Sam’s head hurt.

He called Cas again. This time he answered. Sam related what he’d found so far and Cas promised to help Sam locate the necessary spell ingredients.

“I can’t understand the charts for when to do it, though.”

The pages in his lap fluttered and Castiel took the book from his hands, lips pursed.

“It’s an astrological chart. You should consult a professional.”

“A professional…astrologer?”

“Yes. They will be able to tell you more accurately when this alignment will take place. Hopefully, it will be soon.”

“What, you mean, like, this could be some rare cosmic event?”

Cas handed the book back to Sam and sighed. “Yes. Some things in the universe only align once in a hundred years. Or a thousand. Or longer.”

“Dammit. Uh, here’s the list of the items.”

“The aqua aura stone should be easy enough. Ask the astrologer for that. Eurasian Auroch’s horn, silphium resin. Those I can go back and get at the same time. _In_ the same time. Crushed glass from the first Jewish marriage after the fall of Jerusalem will be a little more challenging, but I believe I know someone with a source.”

“Cas, you’re amazing.”

“Thank you, Sam. You’re an astonishing individual yourself. I believed you’d be long dead, or insane by now, but you have proven very resilient and capable.”

Sam had to laugh, and it felt good.

He missed Dean’s laugh.

Cas had pocketed the slip of paper with the ingredients on it and was looking at the book again, frowning.

“What is it, Cas?”

“For this to work, Dean has to have something from home. From here.”

“How big of a problem is that?”

“Very big, Sam. They both have to have a connection which will, in essence, slingshot them back to their respective dimensions. Without it, they’re stuck.”

Sam was on his feet.

“Cas, there has to be a way! You said angels and demons can’t go there, right? But what about anything else? Look—” He tore through his notes. “Here, what about fairies? Or, or what else—I don’t know, don’t they say yeti are interdimensional?”

“Bigfoot is not real, Sam.”

“Cas!”

“Perhaps fairies. I will ask—” Cas glanced up at Sam, cutting himself off. “I will find out.”

“Okay, thank you, Cas. I’m just freaking out here, I don’t mean to get upset at you.”

Cas smiled, something he so rarely did Sam couldn’t help but return it.

“So, is there anything else you can tell me about Jensen’s world?”

The smile disappeared. “It’s not something I like to talk about. It’s very taboo.”

“C’mon, Cas, please? Anything. It might help get Dean back. What’s with, what did you say, oleum?”

Castiel’s reaction was a curious thing. He opened his mouth, closed it, rolled his shoulders, then looked back down at the open book in his hands, almost burying his nose in it.

“It’s a grooming agent,” he said. Sam took a step closer to hear him better, years of gunshots having taken their toll, and Cas’ gravelly voice was almost a mumble. “Every angel’s wings are different, unique, and the oleum is as well. It’s subtle. We don’t notice it any more than you humans distinguish each other by scent. But with Jensen’s people, after the angels disrupted their natural evolution, mixed in Grace, the humans there developed oleum of their own. Except,” Cas paused, eyes not moving across the page.

“What?”

“It serves a different function for them, I’ve heard.”

“Okay, what exactly? Something to do with this alpha-omega thing?”

Cas actually shuffled his feet. Sam grabbed his coat sleeve to keep him from disappearing.

“It apparently became part of their mating habits. It’s said they use it as a scent identity. Each being has its own distinguishing scent, which gets more potent when they are ready to breed. The omegas produce oleum as a sort of lubrication—‘slick’ I think they call it—to attract their mates, to ease the act, which is a difficult process due to knotting—”

“Wait, what, like dogs?”

Castiel clapped the book closed, and the sharp sound made Jensen groan. Sam spared him a glance, hoping he stayed asleep, and put a finger to his lips to hush Cas. Jensen rolled away from them, pulling the pillow over his head.

“Okay, _what_ now?” Sam said in a loud whisper.

“I really can’t say for certain. I’ve only ever heard gossip in the garrison, thousand-year-old gossip, at that. What I do know is, canines are a sort of homage God created out of angel’s innate obedience as a reminder to always protect and serve man. Somehow that apparently manifested in canine traits in humans from Jensen’s world once the angels had corrupted them.” Castiel looked like he’d rather be anywhere else in the universe than explaining this to Sam. “For the disobedience of a handful of angels, God punished us all. Fornication had been a way of celebrating, of rejoicing in God’s presence, and that was taken from us after what happened there. I was created after it all, but there are some who remember, and who lament it bitterly. It was a beautiful expression, ruined for the sake of pride!”

“Man, Cas. I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

With effort, Castiel smoothed his expression, and straightened himself to his full height, still considerably shorter than Sam’s. “It is alright, Sam. But I must tell you, your proximity to this being is affecting you already.”

It was as if a cold blast of air hit him. He knew it was true. “How do you mean?”

Cas searched his face, his pinpoint pupils lost in the blue of his eyes. “Don’t fool yourself, Sam.”

“You smell like carnations,” Sam said, though he hadn’t meant to.

Castiel almost smiled again. Almost, but he could not hide the concern in his eyes. “I will be back as soon as I can with the items you need.”


	7. Chapter 7

Castiel went to Hell.

“Well, hello, featherface. I’d offer you a cup of tea, but you’ve been avoiding me.”

“No, Crowley. I’ve just been busy. I have…a favour to ask of you.”

“Do you now? The birds shit on you and the bees sting you. Does that help?”

“What?”

“Nothing, you precious little idiot. Come sit on Uncle Crowley’s lap and tell him what you need.”

“I’m not sitting on your lap. Do you know any fairies?”

“Besides you? One. Probably two.”

“I am not—”

“Just spit it out!”

Cas told him.

“Dean Winchester at the mercy of a planet full of rutting Alphas. God, I would pay to see that. And why would I want him back here, exactly?”

“I’ll help you locate Purgatory.”

“You’ll help me find it anyway.”

“No, I won’t. Not unless you help get Dean back.”

“Then you and the rest of your flock of dodos are going to be wiped out.”

“I’ll find another way.”

“Wait!” Crowley shouted as Castiel began to fade from his sight, an event no human eye could track, but to Crowley it looked like the black circle wipe at the end of a Looney Toons episode. “Fine. Have it your way, Hufflepuff. It so happens I have a redcap or two on the payroll and I’ll see if they know the way to San José—”

“San Antonio.”

“Castiel, shut up.”


	8. Chapter 8

** Sam **

It was three days before Sam heard from Castiel again. In the meantime, he ordered a chunk of ridiculously expensive blue quartz and found an astrologer—the least hippy-dippy one he could locate—online. The man worked out of his home only half an hour away.

Jensen had to come with him. It wasn’t an option to leave the kid alone. He’d woken up eventually, none the worse for what had happened, but Sam hadn’t questioned him.

Jensen brought it up. “Who was it?” he asked, peeling an orange the next morning, the only thing Sam could coerce him to eat.

“Who what?”

Eyes on the orange, picking the pith off with his long nails, he said, “Who talked to you? I know someone did. I was in the garden again, and that means someone talked to you who wasn’t me. Who was it?”

“Ellen.”

“Oh. She’s cool.”

“You talk to, uh, them?”

“I hear them all. Some I talk to. She’s the best, tries to keep the rest from getting too loud. They’re always trying to give me advice. Some are pretty fucking paranoid if you ask me. What’d she say?”

“Well, she told me she doesn’t like your doctor. Alastair.”

Jensen looked up, and of all the little moments thus far, he seemed the most like Dean right then. He looked murderous, his jaw set, muscles there jumping, his mouth small and tight. The skin around his astonishing brown eyes twitched. But as fast as the expression appeared, it was gone, and Jensen poked a slice of orange into his mouth.

“She’s not the only one, I take it?” Sam said lightly.

Jensen shrugged. “He isn’t so bad. Been my doctor since I was a kid. The best doctor around, I guess.” A shadow of the fearsome expression troubled his face again, but his voice betrayed nothing. “He is kind of creepy.”

“I have to agree.”

Jensen quirked an eyebrow, chewing. He sucked orange juice off his fingers and Sam tried not to notice. “So there’s an Alastair here, too?”

“Was. And not exactly _here_ here.”

“Where is he?”

“Dead. I killed him.”

Sam knew he was going to have to explain hunting to Jensen sooner or later. He had opted for sooner. The more the kid trusted him, the more time he had to process all the information, the better. He hoped.

Jensen smiled as if it were a joke, but Sam stared steadily back at him. Jensen looked away, looked back at him, ate another slice of orange, licked his fingers— _dammit stop doing that_ —then leaned back in his chair. “Alright,” he said finally. “Why?”

“Because he was a demon, and he was trying to kill my brother. And my friend Cas.”

“The guy I couldn’t see yesterday, that Cas?”

“You can’t see him because he’s an angel.”

“An angel. And a what, demon, you said? What’re you talking about, Sam?”

“I want you to come with me to town. I’ll tell you everything on the way.”

Going to town meant driving the Impala, and Sam actually had to remind Jensen he had more important things to talk about than why Baby was so ‘fucking beautifully loud.’ ‘Sleek,’ ‘sexy’, ‘unbelievable’, and ‘awesome’ were also discussed until Sam cut him off. He hadn’t even gotten the kid _in_ the car yet, so he lifted the trunk.

“Fuck. You’re a serial killer, aren’t you?” Jensen said, surveying the weapons-filled space.

“We hunt monsters.”

“There’s no such things as monsters.”

“In this world there are. Alastair was one. C’mon, I’ll explain more on the way.”

Half an hour later, Sam left Jensen sitting in the car. The kid seemed slightly stunned at the brief breakdown of the world around him Sam had supplied.

“I’d really prefer it if you came inside with me, Jen.”

“I just… I need a minute. I’ll come in, just give me a sec.” Seeing Sam’s worried expression, he winked. “I won’t take off, physically or otherwise. Promise.”

“Okay. I’ll be right inside.”

Sam reluctantly got out and surveyed the building. A small, ranch-style home in the suburbs, light grey and dark grey paint job, a Jeep Cherokee in the driveway. No rainbows, no fairy wind chime, no Blessed Be doormat. Sam knocked on the door.

“Martin Keller?”

The man who opened the door smiled and put out a hand. “You must be Sam.”

“Ah, yeah. I have some charts I needed help with, if that’s possible?”

“Of course. I’ll leave the door unlocked.”

“I’m sorry?”

“For your friend. He’ll come in.”

Sam nodded automatically, trying to hide his surprise. Alright; astrologer, and possibly psychic. Missouri Moseley had worked out well. Pamela Barnes had her eyes burned out and was later murdered trying to help them. Hopefully, it was an every other psychic good luck/bad luck scenario.

With a glance over his shoulder at Jensen’s silhouette, Sam stepped inside. The house smelled like banana bread. Martin led Sam into a small dining room with big windows that let in the wan South Dakota sunshine. He pulled a chair out for Sam and sat around the corner of the table from him.

Martin was a rather nondescript man. Wearing soft loafers, grey slacks and a worn-out green sweater over a polo shirt, he was maybe six feet tall, had salt and pepper hair, sensibly cut. Blue-grey eyes, and a sincere smile that produced fine lines around his eyes. “Let’s see the charts, then?” he said.

Sam had photocopied the pages, leery of bringing a magical book to someone who could be overly interested in it. He didn’t want to have to explain anything more than he had to, ever. Martin looked them over, eyebrows rising higher the longer he looked. “What did you say you were doing with these?”

“Actually, I didn’t. It’s something I’m doing for a friend. I was hoping you could tell me when this arrangement, or, uh, _alignment_ , might happen again?”

“Well, luckily enough for your friend, this particular lunar eclipse is part of a series that will happen this year. The last was in 1991. The next is July 7th. After that, you’d have to wait eighteen years.”

Sam’s heart thumped in his chest. Two months. At least that gave him time to prepare, to make sure he got the spell exactly right. And it wasn’t eighteen years.

“Are you alright? Went a little pale there. Would you or your friend like something to drink?”

Sam followed Martin’s eyes around. Jensen was standing in the living room.

“Uh, no, thanks. Hey, Jensen, you okay?”

Jensen nodded and Sam didn’t really believe him.

“Have a seat. Jensen, is it?” Martin invited. “That’s unusual.”

It wasn’t the only thing unusual about him, Sam suddenly realised as Martin’s eyebrows shot back up once Jensen was closer, once he could see the omega’s startling eyes.

“Thank you,” Jensen said politely, dropping his gaze from the other man’s scrutiny. He edged his chair slightly closer to Sam’s.

“I. Of course. Um. Sam. Is there anything else?”

“If it’s not too much trouble, everything you could tell me about the eclipse would be helpful.”

Martin went to work, writing out times, trines, houses, constellations, conjunctions, degrees and ascendants, occasionally glancing up at his guests, lingering longer over Jensen’s face than Sam’s, and Sam felt himself getting a little edgy.

When he was through, Sam folded the papers carefully into his pocket. Martin watched him, thoughtful. Then, his eyes on Jensen, he asked, “I would like to give you both a reading. For free,” he quickly added when Sam’s mouth opened to decline. Jensen looked up finally, curious. “It won’t take long. Just a quick horoscope.”

“We really don’t have time—”

Martin dragged his eyes from Jensen’s with difficulty. “I think it’s important, Sam.”

Jensen’s face was a little more animated, interested and curious, and Sam couldn’t tell him no. Couldn’t have denied Dean with that hopeful expression.

“What do we have to do?”

“Nothing. Just, I need your birthdays. The times you were born if you have them, and where.”

“January 24th, 1979, 1:29 pm,” Jensen supplied. “In Lawrence, Kansas.”

Sam felt like he’d been punched.

“You, Sam?”

“Uh, same place. 1983, May 2nd. Around five in the morning, I think.”

“You’re brothers?”

“Yeah,” Sam lied, the answer like ashes on his tongue.

“Interesting. Excuse me, this will only take a few minutes.”

With a last furtive glance at Jensen, Martin disappeared into a little room down the hallway. Sam could hear books being opened and flipped through and the clicking of a keyboard. He leaned towards Jensen. His fingers twitched and Sam had the distinct impression Jensen wanted to take his hand.

“You holding up?”

Another nod. Then, “Sam, I’m sorry your brother is missing.”

“Me, too.”

“Will this help get him back?”

“I hope so.”

“I’m kind of scared now. How do you know who’s a monster?”

“Sometimes it’s obvious, sometimes it isn’t. Don’t worry. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Jensen smiled, and Sam almost believed himself.

“Oh, but, Sam? Do you think, um, Dean wouldn’t, like, hurt Jared, would he? Wouldn’t think he was a monster?”

 _Maybe._ “Probably not, Jen. Is there a reason he might?”

Jensen thought for a moment, then his hand brushed the corner of Sam’s mouth, so soft and swift he didn’t have time to react.

“Your teeth aren’t the same. Jared has teeth like every Alpha does. Sharp canines. They’re much longer than yours.”

“I see.” _Crap._

“You, and this man, you look at me like you’ve never seen eyes like mine before. Do monsters have eyes like this?”

“Nothing has eyes like yours that I’ve seen, kid. They’re really cool, though. Like fireworks are going off in them all the time.”

_That was Dean’s heaven: fireworks with me. God, Dean, don’t do anything stupid._

“I always thought it was so strange," Jensen was saying, “that Jared and I were born in the same town. That our moms both died there, too.”

“They did?”

“His mom died in a car accident when he was a baby. Rutting teenager blew threw a stop sign and hit her van. His dad was in the security force and moved around a lot. I never knew my dad, and my mom—our house burned down when I was four.”

 _And Ellen told me you saw her die._ “I’m sorry, Jensen. The same thing happened to our mom. A fire.”

“Figures,” Jensen muttered, and looked out the window. Turned away from Sam. He had the same freckled ears as Dean.

Martin returned, holding out two more pieces of paper.

“I printed out the horoscopes so you could reference them later if you want. You seem very pressed for time, or I would offer to go over these with you myself, but feel free to contact me if you have any questions.”

Sam thanked him, paid him cash, and shook his hand. Jensen did as well, and both men blushed when Martin couldn’t help staring again. Sam ushered the nervous omega out the door and into the Impala, and it was only when they pulled away from the curve that Sam saw Martin, still in his doorway, shake himself as if coming out of a trance and disappear into his home again.

He was going to have to be careful taking Jensen out in public.

“Hey, lemme see the ’scope thing,” Jensen asked as they drove, “I’ll read ’em to you. Okay, um. A natal chart overview, it says. Ugh, they’re long. This is a lot of information. Is this how everyone figures out what to do here?”

“Thankfully, no. To be honest, this is the first horoscope I’ve ever had done. Probably the last.”

“There’s one each for us for this month, then for the first week in July.”

“When I’ll do the ritual to switch you and Dean back.”

Sam waited, but Jensen was silent. He took his eyes off the road for a moment. Jensen was staring straight ahead, lost in thought.

“Jen?”

“Oh. Sorry. Um, mine first.”

When they pulled into Singer Salvage, Sam parked Baby in an open garage and waited for Jensen at the door. Sam followed him inside, neither having said much after Jensen had read through the horoscopes. The kid had been awestruck at the accuracy and rightly weirded out it was all done by mapping the planets and stars. He’d especially liked both the shorter horoscopes and had read them twice to Sam.

“Okay, this is for me, for this week, or no, month, I guess. _‘Aquarius: Mercury, the Messenger of the Gods, accomplished wonders and marvels with his mouth, and as the planet ruling communication goes into retrograde in Gemini on May 7th, communicating what you truly feel will be particularly difficult. It is a long held belief that a retrograde Mercury is actually a time for reflection of our lives. Of course, most of us don't have three weeks to reflect in the real world, thus retrograde Mercury often gets a ‘bad rap’. But the universe has made time for you. Don’t pretend to be elsewhere when your life is right in front of you, begging you to understand it. In three weeks, Mercury will become stationary in Taurus and you may notice things become a little more confused before they get better. But you have rehearsed for this. You know how to function in a crisis, how to give helpful advice and how to be quiet when needed, too. Soon, you will be putting all your practice to work, and you will be able to say, and do, all the things with your mouth that you were born to.’”_

Jensen began laughing, and it was Sam’s turn to blush at the sound.

“Okay, okay,” Jensen giggled. “Actually, that’s rather uncanny, don’t you think?”

“I…I guess? What else does yours say?”

“Wait, let’s read yours for this month. Here, it’s got the same bit about Mercury in retrograde at the top, then it says, _‘Taurus: Life situations at this time can become additionally complicated as Neptune, the planet of illusion, delusion and lack of clarity turns retrograde on Friday, May 29, at 26 degrees of Aquarius. Retrograde Neptune may make you feel especially idealistic, depressed or over-exuberant about situations that you need to view clearly. Now is a good time for alteration. Discard any labels you’ve outgrown, leave behind any category that no longer fits. When Mercury stations in Taurus the mental process may become slower, more difficult and resistant to change. However, decisions made during this time will be resolute. Choose wisely. It's important to be sure what the real issue is and that the decisions made are in your best interest. Turn the slowly changing energy to your purpose.’”_

They exchanged looks. Jensen had lost a bit of his former giddiness.

The longer birth charts had made them even more uneasy. Sam scanned them again, sitting at the table while Jensen made them something to eat. He had Dean’s skill for making burgers and breakfast foods, and it was pancakes and bacon at four in the afternoon. Sam could cope with that.

Dean’s chart…and Jensen’s, he supposed, although wouldn’t the kid have different stars and constellations to influence him? Or maybe he was on this earth, just on a different vibration or something? Sam wasn’t sure. But their natal horoscope was astounding. Dean would have denied it all, Jensen agreed with a lot of it, Sam knew better than both of them the truth in it.

 _‘Sun in Aquarius, Moon in Sagittarius:_ … _You are a lover of the beautiful and the ephemeral. In love you are dedicated. Your feelings are warm and you find fulfillment in knowing that you are loved and appreciated. The key to a happy existence lies in utilizing your potential and in gathering and concentrating your strength toward one chosen aim._

 _‘Ascendant in Gemini, Mercury in the Ninth House:_ … _Among its key psychological influences over life there are the following: intellectual activities, humanism, and abhorrence of violence, and constant doubt of all mental concepts. People whose ascending sign is Gemini usually appear as elegant, slender, expressive, and with very humane facial expressions. They are dexterous with manual labors and crafts, apt, able, witty, inventive and very curious and subtle. Your disposition to life events will be kind and generous (within bounds) but not always fortunate_ … _Your mind is open and generous, and your intellect self-sufficient; yet on many occasions, your judgment will appear as ‘twisted’_ …

 _Saturn in the Fourth House: With this placement you may have the feeling that duties and obligations in your early childhood conflicted with your innermost emotional needs. Consequently, you felt frustrated and misunderstood. This could lead to a sense of fear and distrust in a world that is not conducive to success in human relations and communications_ …

_Moon Opposition Ascendant shows that you try to become personally involved in the affairs of the people you know. Subconsciously, you need someone to need you at all times. Nevertheless, you find it difficult to form individual, lasting relationships, because you are never really sure you can fulfill the responsibilities they entail. You want to be loved, and you constantly dwell on this fact. You hate being alone, so any professional interest should involve personal contact with the public.’_

Sam was honestly stunned. It was Dean, through and through. Which meant it was Jensen, too. Sam read his own, wishing he could view it more objectively.

_‘Sun in Taurus and the Moon in Capricorn. Because both signs are of the earthly element, you are practical and purposeful. Internally, you judge yourself too harshly. You are warm-hearted, kind, and amorous, but others may be put off by a perceived cool, indifferent exterior because you must often show a selfish and calculating face to the world, as you have surrounded yourself by beings who will take advantage of your vulnerabilities if they can. Learn to be objective while knowing who you can and cannot trust, or you will become a very cold, soulless person. Your humanity and natural sympathy is the key to harmony._

_Ascendant in Aries, Mars in the Second House makes you extremely bold, courageous, and impulsive. Your life will be defined by ‘ups’ and ‘downs’ and changes conforming very much with the psychological nature of your temperament. Whether you triumph or not in life depends on your ability to develop your most positive inborn qualities and, simultaneously, exert some control over your less favorable characteristics, such as a certain disregard for the feelings and opinions of others, especially those closest to you_ … _Helping people is very important to you, and a work that necessitates a militant disposition may appeal to you, and be beneficial in tempering your strong will. Impulsive, critical, despising mean or dubious acts, you will create many excellent friendships but also important enemies. Your life is rich in passion and ardent love_ … _prone to debate and argument_ … _very much influenced by emotion concerning the acquisition of psychological stability._

 _Saturn in the Seventh House:_ … _indicates that the key to more spiritual and material development lies in your response to the several tests destined for you which consist of patiently enduring difficulties through human relationships. You should remember that Saturn does not lend a propensity to be demonstrative in an emotional sense. It does, in those individuals with whom you will start a lifelong relationship, give a sense of duty and stability of emotions. Yet you are going to experience some sorrow throughout your life in a relationship_ … _’_

“Well, that was uplifting,” Jensen had muttered.

 _And frighteningly accurate,_ Sam didn’t say.

It was the smaller readings for the week of the eclipse that Sam read over and over again, however. Dean and Jensen’s had been alarming to Sam, though Jensen seemed to take it in stride.

_‘Aquarius: Week of July 7th, Penumbral Eclipse of the Moon in Capricorn. Take a step back from the epic battle that has been your life up to this point. The energies are urging you to reevaluate the supposed nobility and importance of how you’ve existed. Tell yourself the truth; have you been living in a gruesome tale of someone else’s devising? There are always heroes in every story. You just never thought it was you, but you’ve been selling yourself short. Not only that, but you may be the recipient of nothing more than other people’s insecurities, hate, possessiveness, and fear. You’re really not crazy, you’ve just been living under the morass of a world judging you. It’s time to do what’s best for you, what you know has to be done. You will not only save yourself but you might save others (who didn’t even know they were in need of being saved). You’re the hero of your story. Start acting like it.’_

Jensen read Sam’s to himself before he read it aloud and Sam realised it was because he was connecting it to Jared. Sam had somehow distanced himself this whole time from the fact there was another version of himself out there, from wondering what Jared was like. Rereading it, he tried to hold that in his mind as well; this is what the person Dean was with right now was like, too.

_‘Growing up, you may have been forced to play with kids who were stronger and tougher than you were. You were told it would forge you into a champion. A top soldier. You probably hated it, felt inadequate and resentful by turns, but it did make you strong, fearless and determined, which you’re going to be grateful for soon. But someone close to you will need the exact opposite; a gentler, more nurturing approach. Also, your mirror may lie to you this week. A trusted source will neglect to share a crucial detail and the damage will be profound. Fortunately, there will be a secondary source of aid and solace. Someone else’s mirrors will help you find a missing piece of yourself you wouldn’t be able to find in your own. A doppelganger will come forward with information it shouldn’t rightly have, but you will be grateful for it. Accept your flawed reflection, accept the help, and you won't be deprived of what you need.’_

Sam prayed he and Jared were as alike as Jensen and Dean seemed to be. Dean would need someone gentle, and probably all the help he could get. Then Jensen brought up something Sam hadn’t even considered despite the obviousness of it once he heard it.

“Jared’s not going to know it’s not me.”

“How is that possible? I could tell the difference right away.”

“My friends.”

“What?”

“The other personalities. Jared’s just going to think Dean is one of them.”

“Oh, shit.” Sam’s brain couldn’t work fast enough. “What—what does—how—”

“He’ll get drugged. Just like I do. Alastair will up the dosage and he’ll be out for a few days probably. When he wakes up he’ll be full of all the happy juice he can stand.”

Sam prayed to Castiel again. Then he called him. Two days later, Castiel appeared beside Sam while he was fixing the wobbly screen door on the back porch.

“Hello, Sam.”

“Cas! Where have you been?”

“Cyrenaica.”

“What?”

“Cyrenaica,” Castiel said slowly, enunciating. “I think it was 233 BC. Here is your silphium resin. It was rather hard to find.” Castiel pulled an ornate hollow-pearl jar from his pocket and handed it to Sam. “And the auroch horn. Almost as rare, but I didn’t have to hunt this one myself. I found someone in the bazaar who was dealing in them.”

“That’s great! The crushed glass?”

“I have an appointment with Tzaphkiel tonight. Will that be soon enough?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Sam told Cas about the eclipse, that they had two months to wait.

“That is fortunate. It will give me time to find out more about how this happened and how we can get Dean something from here to reconnect to.”

“And something for Jensen from his world.”

“Yes, of course. I forgot. Because I can’t see him.”

“I know, Cas.”

“Does he really look like Dean?”

“For the most part, yeah.”

“I wish I could see him.”

Sam smiled. He patted Cas’ shoulder.

“I miss Dean too, Cas.”


	9. Chapter 9

** Dean **

_Somewhere in Tennessee. It is hot. Dad has been in a foul mood for about three hundred miles. He finds an abandoned house far enough off the road no one will notice anyone squatting there, and pretty much shoves them out of the car with his boot heel and tears off down the road. He’ll be back with supplies, but probably not until tomorrow. He is bar-bound. They know the signs. They look at each other and grin with relief._

_They salt and sigil and then go exploring. It is Sam who finds the quarry a few hundred yards behind the house. They clamber down the scree and inspect it, looking for rusty things to snag upon or bones nearby saying this water is no good to drink or swim in. Finding nothing, Dean gives a whoop and strips naked, lightning fast, and dives in. Sam goes a little more methodically, even gathers up his brother’s clothes and moves them where a gust of wind won’t blow them into the water. He keeps his underwear on and carefully toes his way into the coolness._

_Dean watches him from a distance, treading water in the middle of the pool. Sam looks so small against the backdrop of the quarry wall, against the ancient trees swaying around them, against the darkness between the trunks. Up to his chest now, his little brother finally pushes off and swims towards him, hazel eyes wide and excited. He isn’t small. Closer now, Dean sees that Sam is filling out, has grown lean and strong and is getting tall, going to outstrip him soon, and Dean relaxes, the looming forest not so frightening now that his brother is near._

_Dean dives down. He loves to swim, but hardly gets to. The water is liquid glass and he can crawl along the rocks at the bottom and look up and see Sam’s long legs kicking idly as he floats on his back above him, in the sky. He springs from the bottom and catches his brother around the waist. Sam should have known Dean would do that. Maybe he did know. They struggle, sputter, go under, kick and splash, and make their way to a place they can touch bottom, can tussle with each other, laughing and teasing._

_Dean grabs for Sammy and pulls him close and they hug, loose-limbed and companionable, Sam smiling, eyes like amber in the sunshine. Dean can see some green in them, the green of his own eyes, and his heart swells in his chest, knowing a part of him is in his brother, that they share something that can never be changed, no matter what._

_Sam leans in close to him and he can feel his little brother’s soda-sweet breath on his cheek._

_“You smell like ashes,” Sam says sadly._

“Wha—” Dean opened his eyes, but in the darkness it made no difference.

The dream fell away from him and his joy went with it. What took its place was instant dread. Jared was too close to him; Dean could tell by the heat on his face and the deep-forest scent engulfing him. He tried to shift back, but he might as well have been under a fallen tree. Jared was crouched over him, pinning him in place with his legs and the blanket. Dean’s arms were free, however, and he twisted half onto his back and slammed his palm up, instinctively going for the throat, but Jared moved at the last moment and Dean only jammed the heel of his hand into Jared’s shoulder.

“Easy, baby,” Jared laughed, catching Dean’s hands.

“Jared,” Dean pleaded, letting the fear into his voice. It was usually enough to make Jared relent without a fight. Dean felt strange—lightheaded, his muscles shaky. His heart was pounding, and he was hard, treacherous body jacked on chemicals responding to the scent and nearness of the big Alpha. “Don’t! I can’t—”

Jared slapped him.

It was more the surprise than the pain that made Dean cry out, made him flinch back and try to avoid the second blow, but Jared was too strong. In seconds, he had Dean jerked away from the headboard and was kneeling on his arms. Dean went still, hoping Jared wouldn’t push down any harder, afraid he was going to break bones. The next slap caught Dean across the mouth and he turned his face away from the others. They came in quick succession, and Dean knew he was in trouble. Jared hit him haphazardly, long fingers snapping against Dean’s eye, palm catching the side of his nose and he smelled blood faintly, and when he couldn’t help bucking and kneed Jared in the back, the next blow landed half across his ear, making it buzz.

“How fucking long do you think you can deny me, Jensen?” Jared gritted at him, one hand wrapped around Dean’s throat.

Dean could see him now, barely, and he was seeing stars through his tears as well. When Jared got no answer he shook Dean, the movement making his knees dig into Dean’s arms. Dean screamed. He felt Jared jump at the sound and his weight shifted, settled back on Dean’s belly. That made it hard to breathe, but at least his shoulders weren’t being pulled from their sockets.

“Stop, Jared, please!”

The weight was suddenly gone. Dean spasmed onto his side and rolled into a ball, hands numb, face bruised, his arms in agony. He had a moment of hope that Jared had backed off, that he’d left the room like had happened before, that Jared would sleep it off on the couch and be kind and apologetic the next morning and Dean could just mark off one more day until he would see his little brother.

But something was different this time.

Jared’s hands clamped down on Dean again and he couldn’t help the noises of protest he didn’t think were sobs, but he wasn’t sure. Jared forced him to uncurl, slammed a knee into Dean’s chest, and caught Dean’s forearm under his shin. With his other hand Dean tried to push Jared back, but Jared grabbed his wrist and wrenched it to the breaking point.

That was when Dean felt something against his lips—Jared’s dick, hard and hot and pressing with bruising force. His first thought was to bite, but he should’ve known Jared would take precautions. With his free hand, he grabbed Dean’s dick and twisted.

“Open your mouth.”

There was no choice. Jared’s cock hit the back of his throat at a bad angle and he gagged, his mouth flooding with saliva as he tried not to heave. Jared thrust again. All Dean could do was open his mouth as wide as he could and let Jared do what he wanted. He tried to concentrate on keeping his teeth from flesh, afraid Jared would retaliate, Dean’s dick firmly in his hand. He let go of Dean’s wrist and didn’t stop Dean when he pressed it against Jared’s belly, pushing first. But when that had no effect, he wrapped it around the base of Jared’s dick to change the angle so at least it wasn’t bruising and burning the back of his throat and making it almost impossible to get a breath.

Jared made a pleased sound at the new sensation, his free hand going to the back of Dean’s head.

“Have to fuck you, Jen. Needed you. Want my come inside you, make you mine again. Gonna swallow it all for me, baby? Fucking like it, don’t you? Getting so hard for me. Don’t get to come, though, won’t let you, not gonna get what you need until you can ask for it like a good little omega.”

Dean hated himself. Hated his body, hated the chemicals. But he couldn’t bring himself to hate Jared, somehow. All he could think of was Sammy: poisoned, addicted to blood, a junkie unable to help himself. There was something to it, he knew distantly. There was a connection his mind was trying to show him, but he couldn’t focus.

Jared wasn’t thrusting anymore, just grinding, pushing the head of his cock down Dean’s throat, steady and painful. So much of Jared was inside Dean that he felt his own fingers against his lips, and he shifted his hand, only then realising the Alpha’s knot was swelling. Dean couldn’t help it; curious and disgusted and fascinated, he tentatively explored. Jared groaned as Dean slid his palm around it, ringed his fingers around Jared’s cock and pushed them over the knot, comparing the girth. The difference was substantial.

“That’s yours, whenever you want it,” Jared said, the words rough, low, almost a threat. “Tell me you do.”

 _Dean_ did _not_ want it, but his body did. Lust snaked through him, a sort of arousing fear wondering if he could get that inside of him. When he moved, following the jerking pain of Jared tugging on his dick, he felt damp deep between his legs.

He knew about slick, the self-lubrication all omegas were capable of. He had desperately convinced himself it wouldn’t happen to him no matter how much hormone he was filled with, but there it was, impossibly slippery and humiliating and if Jared noticed…

Dean put his tongue out, caring less about the pain of his teeth digging into the bottom of it than the possibility of Jared fucking him up the ass. He couldn’t deal with that.

Dean arched, the wrist under Jared’s leg definitely sprained now, and let Jared into his throat. The knot pressed against his lips, sealed his mouth, kept pushing. He tried to whine but there was no way until Jared pulled back. The noise was small and pitiful, _excited_ , then it became a cry of pain, cut off quickly as Jared’s hips snapped and Dean’s throat was filled and his upper lip split against his teeth.

He thought of Sam—he didn’t want to, but he couldn’t help it. This is what Sam felt like over him, hurting him. Sam, high on demon blood, had almost killed him. It had hurt in more ways than one, but Dean had gotten over it. He could forgive Sam anything. Jared was the one choking him now, and it wasn’t so different.

Jared snorted at the scent of blood and Dean hoped one last time that he might stop, but it wasn’t enough. Not even the imperative to protect his mate was more important than spilling his seed. When it happened, Dean was almost grateful Jared was so far down his throat he didn’t have to swallow.

Jared tensed, shoved Dean’s head against his groin until blood was pouring from the gash as his lips were stretched wide, and Dean had a moment of terror thinking Jared was going to try to force the knot into his mouth. Then the tube his tongue was trapped under pulsed and hot come sprayed down his throat, hit his stomach, didn’t stop. Jared’s body jerked and the thick head pulled back a little, and that was worse. Dean had to swallow or drown, and combined with his own blood, the chlorine-and-iron mixture almost made him puke it all back up. As it was, some of it won its way up the back of his throat and into his nose, making it impossible to breathe.

He closed his watering eyes and tried not to struggle, tried not to die. His face hurt from Jared’s blows, his wrist was crushed, his jaw almost unhinged, lips raw and cut, his cock was painfully hard and burning in Jared’s grip, and when Jared fell away from him, he didn’t move. Only breathed, carefully so as not to cough, afraid it would make his stomach rebel.

Dean thought it was over. He could hear Jared moving around the room, hopefully leaving, or at least doing something helpful. Cautiously, he moved his hand, the one that had been pinned. Definitely sprained, maybe broken, swelling already. With his good hand he felt under his lip, wincing at the wide split. He was almost stuck to the bed by the blood and spilled come. He peeled the sheets away from his cheek and thought about sitting up. He’d have to open his eyes first. He’d lost track of Jared. Didn’t want to see him.

“Get up,” Jared’s voice rasped. Close. Too close. When Dean didn’t move fast enough—and really, Jared didn’t wait at all between the command and grabbing him—he jerked Dean to his feet by his throat.

“Bastard,” Dean spit, and immediately wished he hadn’t.

Jared slammed him against the wall. “Cunt. Fucking crazy-ass cocktease. Only good for one thing, know that? And you’re going to give it to me, one way or the other.” Jared was inches from his face, fangs glinting in the light coming through the window, his grip on Dean’s throat so tight he was close to unconsciousness.

“Fuckin’ bitch,” Dean wheezed.

Fangs again. Jared sneered, “We’ll see who’s the bitch.”

Jared spun him around and picked him up by the waist like he was an unruly child, carried him to the little prison room. He flung Dean inside, and when he stumbled in the darkness and went down his wrist gave out as tried to catch himself. He bit back a cry of pain, tucking the injury against his chest and trying to gain his feet, but Jared shoved him back.

Dean heard chains.

“Oh, fuck. Jared? I’m hurt, Jared. Please don’t do this, okay? My wrist is bad. Come on, please. I’m sorry. You can shut me up in here, you don’t need chain me. You don’t have to!” he tried, pleading, but Jared wasn’t swayed.

“You’re right, I don’t have to. But I want to.” At that, Jared snatched at Dean’s sprained wrist and jerked him onto his knees. This time Dean couldn’t keep the pain quiet. Jared smacked him again and wrenched his arms behind him. With practiced hands, he had Dean in tight leather cuffs, locked together, and chained to a ring in the wall. Dean had noticed the ring before but hadn’t thought anything of it. Just a place to hang clothes or a towel or something, at the most.

“Don’t cry, baby,” Jared mocked. “You used to love these games, remember?”

“No…” Dean couldn’t remember, but that wasn’t what he was denying. It was his helplessness.

“Yes. Stand up.”

Dean tried, but couldn’t get his feet under him fast enough. Jared pulled him by the arm and Dean let out another cry of pain as his wrist popped.

“Rules,” Jared growled in his ear. “You back up until you hit the wall, and I get to pick how to fuck you. Make it to fifty and you get to pick from two choices.”

_Fifty what?_

A slender brand of fire licked across his chest, and Dean knew. There was a weird vase in the corner of the bedroom with pieces of bamboo or something like that in it. Again, his lack of giving a shit about trivial things around him had left him unprepared. He thought it was just some Pier One art crap, sticks in a vase taking up space kind of thing.

Jared hit him again. At ten, Dean was cursing at him. Twenty and the cane broke. Jared plucked a new one from the vase. This one was a little thicker. Less snap to it, more of a thud. Thirty-three and Dean had taken two steps back despite himself, had turned once to avoid a blow and it had landed across his nipple and he had let out a little shriek. Jared laughed again. Forty-five and Dean could feel the cool wall at his back, but he wasn’t touching it yet. His lip was bleeding again from mindlessly biting down on it to keep from begging Jared to stop. The last five were the worst, but he didn’t move.

Jared was still hard and his cock slipped along Dean’s hip when he pinned him against the wall.

“Good boy,” Jared rumbled at him. “So choose—ass, or mouth again?”

Dean dropped to his knees. It was easier now, not being twisted on the bed, but Jared didn’t come. Wouldn’t. He hissed and shoved Dean away after an eternity, pulled him to his feet again.

“Turn around.”

This was so much worse. His ass and the backs of his thighs were unbelievably sensitive and he didn’t make it halfway before he had his face pressed against the wall. Jared was on him instantly, and that’s when he discovered Dean was wet.

“Little pain-slut,” he purred in Dean’s ear. His nails raked over the welts on Dean’s thigh, making Dean groan. “Like it when I hurt you. Like taking it for me. Know you deserve it, don’t you?”

_Maybe. Not for anything I’ve done here._

“Wet, so tight—”

“ _No_!”

Jared’s long fingers shoved inside him, and it felt good. Felt right. Like they belonged there, and Dean belonged with him. He belonged with Sammy. His home was wherever Sam was.

“Oh, you just open up for me so nice, Jen. Gonna fuck you.”

“Sa—please, don’t. _Jared_. Stop, stop, _stop_! I’ll do anything else, please. Don’t—” He couldn’t say it, couldn’t believe it was happening. “Jared, I don’t want this. Stop! Fucking _please_!”

Whether it was the repetition, the volume, the fear, something got through to Jared, made him pull back a little. Dean turned his head as far as he could, trying to see Jared, to make him understand what he was doing. Jared’s face was slack, his nostrils flared. He withdrew his fingers and Dean missed them.

“Jared, you don’t want to do this to me. I know you don’t. Something is wrong. You’re hurting me, please. Just untie me and shut the door. Call Alastair. Something. You have to stop before you do something you’re gonna regret.”

“Jensen?”

“Yeah. Jared. I think my wrist is broken.”

“Broken?”

“Call Alastair.” Dean couldn’t fucking believe what he was saying, but there it was. Right now, Alastair was less of a threat than Jared, by far.

Jared didn’t agree. His lips drew back from his teeth and his grip on Dean’s neck tightened.

“No. No other Alpha. Just me. You’re _mine_.”

“Fuck, Jared. It’s not like that. He’s a doctor, remember?”

“ _No_.”

Dean scrambled. He’d swallowed so much blood his stomach hurt. So much come. His wrist was on fire and his face was throbbing. “Charlie then. She can help. She can tell Alastair anything he might need to know. I need help, Jared.”

“Need me.”

Trying to be patient, trying to keep from getting hysterical, knowing he would not be able to stop Jared from raping him if he slipped back into that mindset, Dean agreed with him. “I do need you, Jared. So much. I will be a good omega for you soon, I promise. Alastair is fixing it, isn’t he? Making me right? But not now. I can’t take it, can’t do what you need. And I’m messed up, Jared. Get Charlie, please?”

Dean could tend to his own wounds. What he really wanted was some kind of backup. Someone to help defend against Jared. Alastair was not an optimal choice, but he and Charlie were all Dean had.

Jared was clearly confused. He took a step back, hand still on Dean. He glanced down at Dean’s bound wrists. Dean saw him frown, then the buckle on his left wrist was released and Jared slammed the door shut behind him before Dean could even bring his damaged arm around to the front. He didn’t know how to get the lock open on his other wrist and his hand hurt too much to try very hard. So he just sat on the floor, gingerly, the welts fading but painful still, cradled his injured wrist in his lap, and waited.

The room was so dark he had no concept of time passing, and he must have dozed off. When the creaking of the door startled him awake, he caught a glimpse of daylight through the window of the other room. Charlie’s sassafras scent announced her presence before he saw her slip in the door, and she closed it hurriedly behind her. He heard her searching.

“To the left,” he said, and winced. His throat hurt terribly. He squinted, preparing. The light clicked on.

“Oh, _wow_ , Jensen. And I don’t mean wow in a good way.”

She had a little bag with her and opened it as she knelt. The smell of antiseptic washed over him.

“Wait, can you get this offa me?” he asked, motioning with his trapped wrist. “Gotta piss so bad.”

She worked the mechanism open and turned her back politely as he groaned to his feet and made use of the sink. She was holding out a pair of pajama bottoms when he was done.

“Thanks, Charlie. Is Jared okay?” _Why the fuck did I just ask that?_

“Um, I don’t really know. He’s rutting pretty hard, to be honest.”

“Rutting?”

“Weird, though, doesn’t usually affect them at this age. Wonder why he relapsed? Here, just let me clean your face. That lip looks bad.”

“Feels bad.”

He stood as patiently as he could as the little omega wiped his face, neck, and chest down, knowing it was more for her peace of mind than his. She had to be able to smell Jared’s come. His lip started bleeding again, so that took precedence over his wrist as well for a moment. She used a clear sealant of some kind to draw the edges together and stop the bleeding on the outside, but his teeth had gone nearly all the way through from the inside and it was still seeping.

“Got a nice shiner there, Jenny-bean. Put up a fight?”

“No.”

“Oh. It’s hard on ’em when it happens. Like heats are hard on us, I recall.”

She sat next to him on the bed and felt his wrist, pouting in sympathy with him when he couldn’t help a hiss of pain.

“May be a fracture in there. I’ll splint it and find a way to get you x-rayed, pronto.”

“Thanks, darlin’. What do you mean, you recall? Don’t you have heats?”

Charlie feigned indifference, poorly. “Nah. Not this girl. It’s a’ight. Alastair doesn’t have much time for that kind of stuff anyway. Makes it so I can work, besides.”

“Never?”

“Well, before, remember? No? You know, going on the hormones like you are? Switched gears in my brain. Fat lotta good… I think all the extra fried my wires or something. Don’t get heats, can’t have babies, don’t have sex. Might as well _be_ lesbian, right? But you’ll be fine!” she said hurriedly. “I’m sure. You’ll be back to normal and maybe even some day you and Jared will decide you want kids!” She beamed up at him and he wanted to vomit again. Throwing up and sleeping seemed to be his new hobbies lately.

“I can’t do this,” he said.

“Sure you can, Jenny. This was just a bad rut. Jared will be fine, he’ll be prince charming again.”

“This hasn’t ever happened before?”

“Not that I know of. You’d have told me, I think.”

“Yeah, probably. You seem like a good friend.”

Charlie blinked at him. “Say what?”

Dean tried to stop himself, he tried to keep from blurting out the words, but he was too exhausted. Too hurt. He needed to hear the truth, even if it was going to be denied, even if it was going to get him in trouble again, if it meant he was going to be drugged stupid and made to forget it artificially for awhile.

“I’m not Jensen, Charlie. I’m just not. I’m not him.”

Charlie opened her mouth, but Dean didn’t want to hear it. He’d heard it from Jared enough times.

“I’m not crazy! I am not having an ‘episode’; I don’t have multiple personalities. Jensen might, but I’m not him. My name is Dean Winchester, and this isn’t my world. I don’t know how, but I got stuck here. The Jensen you know is probably where I’m supposed to be. With my brother. Sam. Jared looks like Sam, so this must be some kind of parallel world with Deans and Charlies just like the Deans and Charlies where I’m from.” He paused, huffed a breath out, irritated. Not at Charlie. She was looking at him with her big, tinsled eyes, but her expression was open. Listening, not judging. “Charlie, _I can’t do this._ I want—I just want to see my brother again. I’m not supposed to be here.”

 _Whine about it, Dante,_ he groaned inwardly.

“Jensen—”

“Fucking christ! What would it take, huh? What would it take for you to believe me?” Dean put his head in his hand. His lip was throbbing, his eye hurt, his wrist most of all. “I can’t do this,” he said again.

He felt Charlie’s hand on his shoulder. She was a brave thing, he decided. Even Jared would’ve backed away from him by now, would have tried to coddle him or drug him or something. She just sat there, rubbing him gently.

“I don’t know what to do,” he whispered.

“Hey, you can talk to me about anything, okay? I will listen, even if I can’t help. We’ll figure out what’s going on. With you, with Jared, too. He’ll come off the rut in a few days tops. You probably don’t want to, and are too messed up to do much, but helping him through it will make it go away faster.”

“Helping him?”

She gave him a coy look and winked. “You know exactly what I mean. Anything you can do. If you don’t want to, though, don’t go near him. It’s the resistance that makes an Alpha all buckwild when they’re in rut. You guys are bonded—”

“We’re not, though! I’m _not_ his omega. We’re not bonded. He’s never bitten me. I don’t even know what the scars he thinks are his came from, but they’re not from Jared.”

“Okay, slow down, Jen. Wait, I know: you’re not him. Alright, _alright_. I get it. If that’s the case, then just stay away from him. Stay in here. This room is pretty proofed. He won’t be so tempted because he can’t smell you or hear you in here. Alastair helped design the room for just that purpose. Jared doesn’t want to hurt you. He looked dang upset. Just caught him by surprise is all. It’s not your fault. I’ma go talk to him, see if I can take you with me to get your wrist looked at. Grab some clothes or whatever while I’m out there. I’ll keep him occupied. Don’t worry,” she said at his concerned look. “Remember, I’m not breeding material. No danger there. BRB, tiger.”

She left the door to the cell open and Dean waited until he heard the bedroom door close before he poked his head out. The room was trashed, the bed a bloody mess, and it stank. Sweat and fear and lust. Dean rooted through the drawers, dressed himself, irritated that his left hand was about useless, and threw some extra clothes in the cell, figuring Charlie was right about it being the safest place for him. He grabbed a stack of books off the shelf next to Jared’s side of the bed and sat them in the corner of the cell, too. At least he could read himself to sleep until this bullshit passed.

The door opened and Dean barely kept from running.

“Hey, no, Jen. I’m sorry. I won’t—I’ll stay right here,” Jared said. He looked like hell, Dean thought.

 _Good,_ he wanted to say.

“Are you okay?” Jared asked.

“Yeah, just peachy.”

Jared made a little confused motion with his head, but he understood the sarcasm.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah.”

“Jen, please—”

“What do you want, Jared? Huh? You want me to forgive you for trying—for what you did? Sure, fine, whatever. Not your fault. Just stay away from me ’til you can keep it in your pants, alright?”

“I’m sorry.”

“You said that. Don’t say it again.”

Jared looked so despondent that for a moment Dean had a hard time believing he was the same guy from last night. But without warning, Jared whipped around, snarling like a fucking wolf.

“Whoa, easy there, big fella!” Charlie darted under Jared’s arm before he could move to stop her. “You just back it on up and let me and Jenny out. I’ll bring him right back, but you gotta promise to leave him alone, okay?”

All fangs and glowering eyes, Jared nodded curtly.

“Okay, shoo then. Go on, shoo! To the gym with you! Work that stink off somewhere else.”

Jared backed away from the door with all the enthusiasm of a vampire backing away from Buffy, but he did it and disappeared into another part of the house.

Charlie took Dean’s hand and led him outside. “Had to drive the wagon, my car’s getting re-upholstered.”

Getting in was like climbing right up under Alastair’s ball sac, Dean decided, rolling the window down as fast as possible. It was early morning, still that lovely slate blue of pre-dawn and the wind was clean and free of the dizzying crush of smells this world was usually drenched in. Dean leaned his head on the edge of the window, face to the breeze, letting it dry tears as they formed in his eyes.


	10. Chapter 10

** Sam **

Sam tried to keep an eye on Jensen, worried about how he was going to react coming off his medications. But there was so much to do. And if he was honest with himself, once he started watching Jensen, it was very hard to stop. Utterly distracting, actually.

At first, he chalked it up to the weirdness of watching someone who was definitely not his brother move around in his brother's skin. It was surreal, especially when Jensen did something so not-Dean that it shocked Sam. Like when Sam would find him standing in the hallway, blinking rapidly, breathing in deep, loud inhalations as if it were a struggle to get air. Jensen would not answer Sam—or could not, as he figured out later—but if Sam got within reach of him, Jensen would snatch at his clothing or his hand and tug.

The first time had been awkward, stepping in close and wrapping his arms around Jensen, moreso when Jensen pressed the length of his body against Sam’s, put his head against his chest, and refused to be pried off. Sam rejected the notion that this would probably be easier to do lying down, and compensated by leaning against the wall and waiting it out, finding a well of patience he hadn’t known he had. An hour and fifteen minutes was the record, but usually the fugue only lasted ten minutes or so. Then Jensen would raise his head, still blinking rapidly, and mutter Sam’s name, allowing himself to be led to the couch or his bed, whatever was closest. Curled into a ball with a blanket over his head, Jensen would fall asleep and Sam would stand there and stare, bewildered and sad and somewhere in the back of his mind, hiding in the shadows, protective. Possessive.

Those moments became less frequent, but when one thing dissipated, another took its place with eerie regularity. Just when Sam had gotten used to finding Jensen rooted to some spot and comforting him as best he could, he noticed the omega was following him around like a tail. Still mostly unable to speak, to answer or relate what he was doing or feeling, he went into such a panic if Sam tried to lose him that Sam just gave up and let the strange creature follow him about like a lost puppy.

When he told him to sit down at least, Jensen went to his knees beside Sam’s chair and folded over, palms to the floor, forehead on the back of his hands. He would tense into an unmovable ball of muscle and Sam had been wrong about his first assessment of Jensen’s strength. The kid was fucking ripped, and if he did not want to be moved there was nothing Sam could do about it. So he let him be, kneeling in a little lump by Sam’s leg. 

Sometimes, Jensen would hum to himself. Though Sam tried to catch the tune, it was never anything recognisable. Humming seemed to calm the kid down and, after awhile, he would stir, would pull himself to his feet and into a chair opposite Sam, put his head down on the table and go to sleep.

Sam would stare.

Jensen definitely had a problem with loud or unexpected noises and would flinch or cover his ears often, and Sam found himself making an effort to not bang through the house like he normally did. And then he began reaching out to touch Jensen when he flinched, when there was an unavoidable noise like phones ringing or steel-on-steel clanging from the junkyard. He was sure he didn’t notice when he stopped drawing his hand back, but about three weeks after they’d seen the astrologer, two and a half since Sam had gotten the chunk of aqua aura in the mail, two full weeks since Castiel had reappeared with the vial of crushed glass the angel Tzaphkiel had supplied him with, and three days after he had first put his hand on Jensen’s back to comfort him when he’d clapped his hands over his ears as the house phone rang and Bobby’s gruff voice had been on the other end of the line again, Jensen put his hand over Sam’s where it was resting on the omega’s thigh, threaded his fingers through Sam’s, and neither said anything.

The next morning, Jensen wouldn’t come out of his room. He’d locked it and when he wouldn’t open it. Sam told him he was going to break it down.

“Go away!”

Well, at least he was talking.

Sam didn’t have time for this. He’d found some information that suggested silver would be passable between dimensions and was doubly useful in moon magic, and he’d planned to rifle through Dean’s things to find something silver that had personal value to him, and then he was going to harass Castiel more about the fairy business. Bobby had confirmed there were few other creatures that could be used as a go-between, and of all of them, fairies were the only ones who would maybe work with humans. Maybe.

And now this.

He could just leave Jensen to his hibernating. He’d probably be fine.

Hoping Bobby hadn’t reinforced it on the other side, he kicked the doorknob. It gave easily enough, but the wall of scent, the heat, the sweet sweat he’d almost gotten used to on Jensen’s body, nearly sent him reeling backwards. He grabbed the door when it rebounded and threatened to hit him, and he held onto it when he saw Jensen.

The kid was stretched out on the bed, legs askew, one arm back along his body, the other pressed against the side of his head, alternately covering his eyes or his ear as if the senses where too much to bear. Sam tried not to notice the barely-there twitching, the way his hips were bucking gently into the bed, how his ass was rocking upwards every few seconds under the thin blanket. It was too hot in the room, Sam thought, feeling the itch of his own sweat, the itch of his own _skin_. Of his bones inside of him, of the blood moving, pulsing, flooding.

_Fuck_. Sam swallowed hard. “Jensen? What is it?”

“Hurts.”

“What does?”

“Fucking everything!”

“Are you sick?”

Jensen laughed, a half-choked sound. A half-sob. “I’m not _sick_. I’m in _heat_.”

_Like a cat? Don’t say that. Rude. More like a dog, anyway._ He remembered what Castiel had told him about their canine attributes. His face burned and he was grateful Jensen wasn’t looking at him.

“Um. Oh. It hurts?”

“Yeah,” Jensen groaned, grinding down into the bed. “Aches.”

“I. I’m sorry. Is there—what can I do?”

Jensen’s hand moved slowly away from his face and he looked up at Sam with what was damn near a glare, the gold flecks in his eyes glittering. His gaze raked up and down Sam’s frame, settled on his crotch. His lips parted and Sam heard him actually pant, then those fiery eyes met his.

“Fuck me,” he said.

Sam kept his knees from buckling, barely.

“Uh, I. It wouldn’t work, would it?” _‘Would it?’ Jesus christ, Sam._ “The physiology is different. I don’t have the, uh, the knot. Isn’t that important?”

Jensen didn’t—couldn’t—answer. His body suddenly heaved and he curled onto his side, teeth clenched. A sob escaped him as he wrapped his arms around himself. His right hand curled around his upper left arm and his nails dug into his skin, drawing blood. Sam darted to his side.

He immediately wanted to regret it.

Jensen latched onto him and would not let go. Arms around his waist, the kid held on with that incredible strength Sam encountered earlier and he was as good as trapped on the bed. The scent Jensen was giving off was dizzying—sweet, comforting, arousing—was tickling some part of his brain where he stored sin. The itch in his skin was somehow lessened just by the nearness of the omega’s body.

“P-please,” Jensen murmured against Sam’s stomach, face buried there. He rolled in Sam’s lap, those opalescent eyes blazing up. “Sam. You can have me. Help me, please? You can even mark me. Here.” He scrambled up, straddling Sam. He tilted his head to the right, exposing his neck. There were white scars there. Teeth marks. Canine puncture wounds. Sam’s mouth opened, his tongue flicked across his own teeth.

“Do it, too. I _need_ you, Sam. Don’t you want me?”

Not waiting for an answer, Jensen dug his hands into Sam’s hair and pulled him forward, down to those marks. Sam let him. He couldn’t think, couldn’t concentrate. The desire to get his brother back, while still there, was more of a nagging feeling, like a stiff knee when he started his morning run; something that would need to be babied and cared for and would probably be there every day for the rest of his life, but something he could live with. And while his mind scrabbled around that notion: while he felt horrified at the prospect, he couldn’t _focus_ on it.

All he could really see, feel, smell, think about, was this writhing being in his lap—the taste of his skin, because Sam opened his lips and licked along the line of Jensen’s shoulder, felt the rough scars, slid his lips higher—his scent, his nose in Jensen’s hair, inhaling as deeply as he could. The way Jensen felt—Sam couldn’t keep himself from grabbing his hips, sliding hands up his back, kneading into the taut flesh. Jensen arched under his touch, back bowed, chest pressed into Sam’s, and his hips snapped forward. Sam could feel Jensen’s erection against his belly and his own surged to match it.

“God, Jen. Wait, just—stop!”

He managed to pull Jensen back a little but he fought, hands still in Sam’s hair. He only relaxed when Sam allowed him to press their foreheads together. Jensen was shaking, teeth chattering like he was cold. But he was sweating steam, his breath honeyed heat on Sam’s face.

“Will it work? _How_ does it work?”

Jensen laughed, shaky and eager. “C’mon, Sam, you can’t be a virgin.”

“No, I mean, we’re different… A different species almost. I don’t have what you need, do I?”

“I need to be bred. I need to fuck. I need a knot to come on.”

“I don’t have that.”

Jensen grinned, and Sam actually felt a little nervous at the intensity. “You have a fist.”

“You are not serious.”

“I so am. Jared and I have done it before. It works. _Please._ ”

“Dude, my hand is huge.”

That grin again. “ _I know._ ”

The lust, the invitation, the _need_ saturating Jensen’s voice was too much for Sam to resist. Jensen gave a small, excited cry when Sam lifted him, spun them, tossed Jensen down on his back. Sam ripped at the blanket tangled in Jensen’s legs. He was naked under it. Sam stood over him, his breath harsh in his throat, in his ears, his clothing scratching at him painfully. He jerked his shirt up over his head and his jeans down, and Jensen’s eyes lit up at the sight of his cock. Sam flung himself over Jensen, caught his face, kissed him even as Jensen wrapped his legs around Sam and bucked.

Jensen was wetter than any girl Sam had ever been with, slicking his stomach. Sam pushed his hand between Jensen’s legs, seeking the source, and his fingers dipped into the slick. Jensen’s ass was dripping; soft and open, almost sucking at Sam’s fingers as he stroked him. The scent of his heat was a rolling wave and the bottom fell away and he went under, down onto Jensen’s body. He didn’t mean to, wanted to go slow, to make sure he wasn’t doing something wrong, but he found himself inside Jensen before he could think it through. 

It was heaven. The omega’s body could take him so deep; there was no resistance, no need to go slow, and any worry about not being adequate went out the window.

“So big,” Jensen purred, curling himself around Sam, tongue swiping along his jaw. “Made for me, aren’t you? Fit together, no matter who, no matter where.”

Sam wished he hadn’t heard that, but it was too late; his mind was flooded. Fucking his brother and having it feel this good, this right. Dean being fucked by Jensen’s Alpha, Sam’s form but not Sam, no way to disassociate the two. Fucking Dean.

Jensen laughed beneath him, a giddy, almost sinister sound and Sam’s hand slammed over his mouth to stop it, knowing what it was, knowing Jensen felt the surge though his body at the thought, could probably smell the excitement on him. He wanted to be angry, and Jensen’s eyes shined up at him, dared him, pushed him. He felt teeth against his palm, pressed harder, moved his hand up to cover as much of Jensen’s nose as he could. Sam held him down until the struggling was in earnest. When he took his hand away, Jensen gasped loudly, chest heaving, and the only words he spoke after that were _yes, fuck, Sam_. 

But the damage was done. When Jensen closed his eyes, Sam wanted them to be green when they opened. When he concentrated on his cock, on the feeling of Jensen’s hot, tight ass around him, he wondered if Dean could take it, if Dean was taking it from Jared, and he felt jealous. He fucked Jensen hard, feeling irrational and pissed-off, greedy. He wanted Dean. He’d always wanted Dean, but had never allowed himself to accept it. Now, part of his mind thought he actually had him, but it was only a body that looked like his, and Dean’s mind, his personality, would never want it. 

But Jensen did. He seemed to want it all, even Sam’s lust for his brother.

Sam gave it to him.

When he came, he gritted his teeth against the word that wanted to come out, but Jensen started talking again almost instantly.

“I need you, Sam. I love you. I do! Everything about you.”

_Everything. Even Dean?_

“Everything, Sam,” Jensen repeated breathlessly, as if he could read his mind.

Sam closed his eyes, face tucked against Jensen’s neck, breathing in that melted ice cream on a summer day scent that was the omega, and he felt lost. Dean was there with him, but just out of reach. He clutched at Jensen.

Still hard somehow.

Jensen was an aphrodisiac; the scent, the slick heating his skin just enough to numb him, those spitfire eyes. When he could get a decent breath Sam twisted his hips a little and Jensen gasped, whispered Sam’s name like a plea for mercy, and Sam decided he liked that; Jensen desperate, wanting. Wanting _him._

He pulled away, Jensen leaving scratches on his skin as he tried to hold onto him.

“Roll over,” Sam instructed.

The sight of Jensen on his knees, chin to the bed, palms flat on either side of his face, back arched and ass up high, went straight to Sam’s balls. His cock slipped over the slightly puffy hole Jensen was presenting to him. 

_Like their lips._

Jensen surprised him by shoving back, fucking himself onto Sam. He caged Jensen beneath him with arms and legs, and those lips found his hand, that hot tongue lapped over them. Jensen sucked and mumbled against them as Sam fucked him.

“Do anything, Sam. Can hurt me, want to?”

Sam did want to, but he said nothing, concentrated on the incredible drag and heat of Jensen’s body, waited to see what other kinks might come out.

“Can choke me, chain me down, I like it! Have me whenever you want. Want to be yours, Sam. Want you. Wanna come, will you let me, please? I’ll do anything, be anything, be anyb—”

Sam clamped his hand over Jensen’s mouth again. Too much. He’d never fucked a guy before, had never faced the way he felt about Dean before, could barely even comprehend what had happened that had taken his brother away and left him with this half-mad, writhing thing beneath him. Was laced with panic that he might not get Dean back, and how he would feel facing him when he did.

What Dean might be like.

How he was beginning to feel about Jensen.

Sam’s orgasm turned his spine to ice, made his scalp tingle, made Jensen sob under his palm. There were actual tears on the back of his hand. Jensen collapsed beneath him and tried to crawl away. Instinctively, Sam grabbed the back of his neck and pinched. Jensen froze. Sam rolled them onto their sides and reached around Jensen’s body, gripped his dripping cock.

“Sam!” he cried, struggling again once Sam let go of his nape.

“What? Trying to get away? Where you gonna go, huh? What will happen if you can’t come? Don’t get your knot?”

“Stay in heat,” Jensen whimpered, breath coming in little gulps. “Please help me. It _hurts._ ”

“Thought you like hurting? Said that, didn’t you?”

“Yes! I can’t—need you to—please, Sam!” Jensen bucked as Sam fisted his cock hard, tugging forcefully. Sam’s cock was finally softening, slowly, and he teased Jensen as he regained his breath until the omega was fighting him for real, needy and overstimulated.

“Want my hand inside your tight asshole? You want it, you have to do it first,” Sam said, pinning Jensen down on his side, sitting up, one hand on Jensen’s hip, holding him where he wanted him. Jensen whined a complaint even as his fingers walked their way down his ass towards his hole and then slipped in.

_God, even his fingers are just like Dean’s. Their cocks are the same, then. Perfect._

Jensen splayed his hand, opening himself up and Sam could see inside, see the rose-red walls and the black, deep tunnel, and then Jensen arched his back, fucking himself onto his hand, his body swallowing it up easily. His thumb was hooked outside, but he was past the knuckles and Sam groaned, his cock twitching, coming to life again.

“The whole thing,” he said and Jensen complied, pulling his hand back enough to tuck his thumb into his palm and with just a small pause, a slight tremor though his frame, his hand disappeared. His asshole closed around his wrist and he twisted his arm.

“Deeper,” Sam instructed, sliding his hand through the slick along Jensen’s balls to wet his own hand, stroking himself into hardness with it. Jensen’s back bowed and his wrist disappeared inside his body. He was panting, sighing, making fucking obscene noises of pleasure like Sam had never heard.

“Good boy. Good little omega,” he said impulsively, and Jensen’s eyes snapped open, fiery and wild.

“I want to come in you again,” Sam said to him. “Open yourself up wide for me. I want to come down that open ass then fill you up with my fist. Make you come, make you mine.”

“Need you to come in me, wanna be fucked, _please_ ,” Jensen babbled, working his arm in and out of his body now, popping it free and shoving it back in, his hand bundled up but not fisted completely. Sam suddenly lifted him onto his knees and grabbed Jensen’s cock. It was rock hard, dark like the inside of his body, and pouring slick form the tip. He squealed at Sam’s touch, sensitive, but Sam wouldn’t let him go, wanted him begging. For more, for mercy, for his come.

And he did, a litany of filth and promises and pleas that Sam never imagined could go together.

“Open up,” he instructed, “pull your ass open for me. Gonna come in you, okay? Do you want that?”

“Please!” Jensen sobbed, face down, both hands reaching back, pulling at his hole, holding it open for Sam. He positioned his cock just at the entrance, fighting the urge to bury it. He wanted to see it happen, see his come disappear inside his mate.

His orgasm nearly made him blind, but he got what he wanted. Jensen yelped as if it burned him, couldn’t keep his fingers from dabbing inside, chasing Sam’s come. He smacked his hands away, grinning when Jensen brought his fingers to his lips, sucking them clean.

“Please, please, knot me.”

The heat around his fingers was incredible, so different than what it felt like on his cock. Jensen was so soft, so open, so wet inside. Three fingers went in easily, a fourth and Jensen moaned. Sam rolled his wrist and Jensen spread his legs, bracing himself. Sam couldn’t be gentle, knew Jensen didn’t want him to be. He curled his thumb and pushed and Jensen squealed again but his body let Sam in.

He was mesmerised. Jensen’s beautiful face— _Dean’s face,_ his mind supplied—was bliss personified—his eyes almost closed, his mouth open, tongue flicking just behind his teeth, breath coming in little pants and moans. He was shaking. Sam could feel it inside, feel muscles fluttering around his hand and he pushed and pulled, Jensen taking him past the wrist, his ass staying open when Sam pulled out entirely only to shove back in.

Sam wanted him to beg again.

“Like that? Want to feel you come on my hand, Jen. Can you do that?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” was his answer.

Sam shifted and slid the fingers of his other hand inside Jensen, spreading him open as wide as he could. He alternated, keeping him full, fucking him fast and hard with both hands, slipping them halfway in together once just to hear Jensen whimper.

“Want me to knot you? Want to feel me locked inside you now?”

“Please, please, Sam, yes!”

“Tell me I’m your Alpha, Jensen,” Sam said, curling his hand slowly into a fist inside the omega’s body. Jensen made a sound, loud and high pitched and Sam thought for a moment he wasn’t going to do it. He wouldn’t have minded. Much.

“Sam, Sam, Sam,” Jensen cried, his hips stuttering, shoving himself back and forth onto Sam’s hand, and when Sam rolled his wrist, felt his knuckles brush against a firm, swollen button of flesh inside Jensen, he got what he wanted.

“ _Alpha_!” Jensen sobbed, and then again, and his cock pulsed, spilled, a steady torrent of clear liquid gushing between his knees, and his ass clamped down around Sam’s wrist.

It took another hour before Jensen finally said ‘no’ and meant it. Sam had long since rolled him over onto his back so he could kiss him, watch him as he came over and over again, taste it as it boiled over, hand still buried inside the whimpering omega. The ‘no’ was one of the few words he seemed capable of by that time, his vocabulary mostly consisting of little cries of pleasure that had gotten Sam hard one more time. He’d pulled his hand almost all the way out and slipped his cock into Jensen over the backs of his fingers, and had made them both come as he rubbed little circles over Jensen’s prostate. That he had anything left to ejaculate was up for debate, but it still felt fucking mindblowing.

Now, Jensen was blinking slowly up at him and the day had faded into evening, and Sam had never been more sated, confused, or hungry. But Jensen snuggled into his arms and fell asleep like someone turning a light out, and there was no way Sam would have left him. He lay in the gathering darkness and watched the tip of Jensen’s nose twitch as he dreamed, and tried not to think.

It was impossible. His brain was too exhausted, too doped, to resist all that he normally could during the day. At night. All his life.


	11. Chapter 11

** Dean **

“Hairline fractures.”

“Awesome. Isn’t this domestic abuse, Charlie?”

“What?”

“Jared. Doing that. You know, trying. That. Shouldn’t there be some counselor in here reading me my—my victims’ rights?”

“Victim? Jens, he’s your Alpha. These things happen.”

“Seriously? I mean, I’m not saying I want that, it’s just…” _This world. Man, fuck this world. Forget it. Can’t change anything here unless you wanna be a politician or something._

“’Kay, so the doctor is on his way to doctor what needs doctoring, said I can take you back when he’s done. Is that what you want?”

“What choice do I have? ’Less you got a genie’s lamp in your pants?”

“A what-a-who?”

“Never mind. Yeah, drive me back, I guess. Thanks, Charlie. You didn’t have to come rescue me.”

“No probs. Anything for my Jenny-bean!”

“’Cept I’m _not_ ,” he didn’t mean to mumble aloud.

Charlie sighed. Not exasperatedly. Concerned. “Sticking with that, huh?”

“It’s the truth.”

He swung his feet back and forth under the exam table like a child and looked at her. She looked back. Looked down at the rest of him. At his hands, one cradling the other in his lap. She bit her lip and looked him in the eyes again.

“What’s your father’s name?” she quizzed.

“John.”

She frowned. “Do you know how long Jared and Jensen have been together?”

“Haven’t a clue.”

Her eyebrows hiked up her forehead. “See, most of Jensen’s…his ‘friends’ know stuff about him. Why don’t you, Dean?”

“’Cause I’m not a figment of his imagination.”

“Okay. Fine. That’s fine. This is new, but fine. Processing. Not saying I’m in for the win, but you’re pretty convincing, I’ll give you that. Um. You stay here, yeah? I’ll be back to swoop you up. Stay. Here.”

“Staying.”

She opened her mouth, closed it, put her hand up as if to ward off a blow, twirled and closed the door behind her. Alastair slithered in a few minutes later. He leaned against the door after he’d shut it and studied Dean from across the room. Dean glared, Jared not around to _tsk_ him into politeness.

Dean hated this man. There was nothing else in this world he could imagine hating so much. The other Alastair, the one Sammy had obliterated, he’d ruined Dean. Had Dean a cunt-hair away from being a demon. Had him. More than once.

Dean understood this was not _his_ Alastair. This was a human. Or something like a human. Like everyone else here, at least. But Dean _knew_ this man was evil.

Dean felt the old purpose come back to him. Or at least part of it. _Hunting things_. He’d lost a lot of drive and most of his sense of self in the last half-year. Confusion, drugs, helplessness, panic, homesickness, all these things had taken a toll on him. They weren’t pain, fighting, adrenaline, fatigue, excitement—things he was used to, things he enjoyed in one way or another—and he’d floundered. None of his usual coping mechanisms, none of his life skills, were any good to him here.

But now. Alastair. The Alastair he’d known was dead already.

He could find some way to kill this one, too.

All of that hit Dean in an instant. Just a gut feeling—something else he hadn’t had in a long time. His instincts were dull, but the thought of killing this creepy sack of antlers just felt so _right_.

Like he’d felt when he’d turned Baby around and driven back to Sam’s apartment, the night Jessica had burned on the ceiling like their mom.

Alastair spoke finally, smiling, dead-fish eyes widening dramatically, and Dean knew his gut was right.

“Oh, hello, _Dean_.”

“Alastair, you son of a bitch. You’re evil every which way, aren’t you?”

“Shades and shades. My lovely Charlene says you’ve been filling her head with all kinds of confusing nonsense. That you’ve developed a new insanity. She says you don’t even think you’re from this planet? Is that so, Dean?”

“You tell me.”

“My professional opinion? You’re a lunatic, whether you’re Dean or Jensen or Alec or a vampire. There are so many creatures out there wearing your face!” Alastair shuddered excitedly. “You know, precious, the angels really fucked up. That Alastair your brother killed? He really understood my work. It’s rather interesting talking to yourself when yourself can answer back. From him, I figured out a way to, oh, peek between worlds. Then I learned how to _steal_.”

“You did a spell to bring me here, is that it? Great. So you could bore me to death? Blah blah, fuck-face.”

“Now, Dean-o, don’t be like that. I want us to be friends.”

“Not in this world or a gillion others.”

“I was almost there, you know. With Jensen. But Jared had to come along and louse it all up. I suspect it’s the same in every place: you and him, bound up somehow. I figured I would give it a try, though. Switch one of the bonded pair out for another, see if it weakens the connection. Seems to, at least with you. You aren’t so fond of our Jared.”

“Yeah, well, rape does that to a guy, I guess.” There, he’d said it.

“Mustn’t blame him. It’s not rape— _you’re not Dean_. You’re his broken little Jensen, who’s always needed to be fucked back to sanity. It’s so sweet when Jenny remembers me. I do try to keep him in the dark about our cherished time together, but it surfaces…”

“You—you’re the reason he thinks I’m crazy?’

“Oh, Jensen _is_ crazy. Ah, to think I had a hand in giving that pretty little omega the most interesting and complex case of dissociative identity disorder of his generation! I’ll never get the credit for it, but it’s so very fascinating. The money I've made off the drugs to ‘treat’ him, alone. Well. So maybe my experiments aren’t perfect, but hey, that’s why they’re experiments. That’s why I _practice_. Personality changes are so hard. Charlene is a much better patient. Helps her Alpha is lying in a hospital in Kansas, in a coma, never to wake, poor thing.”

Dean suddenly wanted to laugh. He wanted to say ‘You’ll never get away with this!’ and shake his fist at Alastair. But he was still out of his element. As far as he’d been able to figure, there was no magic in this world, so no way for him to work something out to get himself home. But Alastair had a way.

The hope actually hurt, it was such a foreign feeling.

“How did you do it?” Dean asked through clenched teeth.

Alastair jammed his hands in the pockets of his white coat and grinned. “Well, let’s say it was a one-time deal. Poof, you’re here forever.”

“Fine. Why then? Fuckin’ just tell me that. _Why_?”

Alastair shrugged and pushed himself from the door. “Oh, I don’t know. Love. Hate. Boredom. Now, let’s have a look at that wrist, shall we?”

“You’re not fucking touching me.”

Like a snake striking, Alastair clamped down on Dean’s fractured wrist and squeezed, grabbed his face, fingers biting into the bruises.

“No? Touching you like this, you mean? You don’t like it? Oh, Dean, Dean, Dean. I’ve heard you beg—well, not for _my_ touch, per se, but close enough. You begged that Alastair for all _kinds_ of things.”

“ _Fuck_ _you_!”

“That’s right. I saw you in that place, that Hell. Oh, I was jealous. He got to do so much with you! Things my Jensen couldn’t have survived. That man, that other me, oof, he was a genius, wasn’t he? That's where I got the idea to give Jensen that tattoo. Thought it was just stunning! Didn't know it would be so pivotal later. It was merely one more way to mark him as mine. Secretly. Doesn’t matter anymore, though.

“Now, you listen to me. You’re not going to tell Charlene any more of your fantasies, or I’ll never let you see her again. You’re not going to try to convince Jared that I’m a bad person, because you’re crazy, _Jensen_ , and I’ll just recommend more medications, more time in your cell so your poor, overstimulated brain stops misbehaving. I’ll recommend surgery, behavioral therapy, institutionalisation. I’ll make your life wickedly painful and sad. More so than I am now, even. Do we understand each other?”

“I could kill you,” Dean said, wishing he could stop his eyes wincing from the pain in his wrist. These fuckers were so strong. Even Charlie could probably take him arm wrestling.

Alastair sneered. “Oh, that’s clever. Kill me, go ahead. Ruin Charlene’s life, utterly crush that knot-head Alpha of yours, and end up being executed for an omega-on-Alpha crime. Wonderful! That will accomplish _so_ much.” Alastair shoved Dean’s face back and let go of him. “Hold your wrist out.”

Dean followed Charlie out of the clinic and to the car, cradling his splinted and bandaged wrist. He held his breath as he got in until he got the window down. Charlie seemed morose and was quiet for most of the drive back.

“Hey, so, I’m sorry. I’m a bad friend. I told Alastair about, about what you said. Being Dean. I hope he didn’t, like, smother you. He worries about you, is all," she finally said.

“Yeah. Worries. It’s alright. We actually had a very informative talk. Thing is, C, he said you and me, we couldn’t be friends if he heard any more about Dean. So.”

“I know!” she wailed. “I’m so bad! I won’t do it again, I promise. Just you and me, okay, secrets like we used to keep. Pinky swear, and that’s my favourite digit.”

“Pinky swear.”

“Do you want me to walk you inside?”

Dean did. As the house came into view, his stomach hollowed painfully. “Nah, I’ll be okay.”

“Call me tonight—I’ll worry if you don’t.”

Dean promised her, and she waited until he had the door open to drive away. He wondered if he’d ever get Alastair’s putrid smell out of his clothes. Then he worried what Jared would do if he smelled the other Alpha on him.

_Don’t they have like, deodorant for this shit? Some scent-away?_

He poked his head inside. The house was quiet, but he could hear the sprinkler in the back yard and Jared never went far with that on, so he was here somewhere. Dean decided to take Charlie’s advice and headed straight back to the little cell. He wanted to escape again, for the first time in a long time, but what both Charlie and Alastair had intimated about a society that cared little about rape and violence towards omegas, that actually punished omegas for fighting back, for protecting themselves, and the memory of that cop— _Henrickson_ , he realised with a jolt—trying to force him into his car, these things stopped him, sent him into the bedroom and to his cell.

The bedroom had been cleaned, the sheets changed, the blood wiped off the floor. The vase of canes was still there. He snatched Jared’s spare watch off the nightstand and took it with him into the cell. The chains and cuffs had disappeared and there was bottled water and food left for him—a whole pie on the counter, a little cooler with sandwiches and leftover pizza in it. When Dean pulled the door shut, there was a clink and he noticed Jared had installed a couple of sliding locks on the inside. Whether that was comforting or terribly alarming Dean couldn’t decide, but he slid them both into place.

He tried to eat something, but his mouth hurt so much that he only managed a few bites of the pie—berries, like blackberries but larger, firmer, delicious. He crawled onto the bed. Jared had fixed it after Dean had torn it apart. He hadn’t made Dean go back in the cell since then, and Dean had made considerable effort not to do, say, or show anything that would reverse that. Didn’t mean nothing was going on that might have once necessitated Jensen doing time in here, but Dean was not Jensen. He told the voices to fuck right off.

He’d found out how to work the stereo and had gone through the discs of music and found some that passed for rock on this fucked-up planet, and he turned them up loud enough he couldn’t hear his own thoughts, let alone imposters. The fact that nearly every single song seemed to be written just for him was unnerving, but he reminded himself constantly that it had all been written way before he existed here. He worked out until he was exhausted and could do nothing but sleep, and when Jared was around he did whatever Jared asked of him as best he could. None of it _stopped_ the voices completely or made the paranoia go away, but it was all he could do.

Exhaustion was his friend today. He was numb and his head was empty. Somewhere out there in the wasteland that had become his mind, Alastair was lurking, their exchange today waiting to be dismantled and examined and used. Sam was there, too. He was close, but Dean couldn’t see him or hear him. Just feel him; that readiness, that calmness Dean drank up through his skin, that straightened his backbone and firmed his guts when he wasn’t at his most brave. Sam was there. He was waiting. He had to wait.

Dean slept.

He woke, pissed in the sink, slept again, and it was late in the evening of the next day when he finally woke up without wanting to go right back to sleep. More than twenty-four hours had passed. He ate a little, having better luck with it this time, drank two bottles of water, finally put the incinerating toilet to use—and that was an awesome invention, actually—and he gave himself a whore’s bath.

He was shaky when he was done. Not sleepy, though. Just exhausted. And bored. He picked a couple books from the stack he’d grabbed earlier. The first was a murder mystery; Dean had it figured out by the fifth chapter. The rich people did it, because they were rich and wanted to be richer. He read the ending. _Yup. Lousy rich people._

The other book was called _The Disavowed Planet_. It was at least fifty years old, but still in nice condition, a hardback with a cool picture on the cover of some busty chick in a tight spacesuit and a round helmet that left her blonde hair floating in the vacuum as she pranced across a purple desert, her ray gun or whatever poised at some unseen threat in the distance. She had blue eyes. This looked more promising. He opened the cover and a little flutter of pictures landed on his chest. One was a family portrait, dad, mom and five boys standing in a row. The other two were of the same person—one of the boys.

Dean tracked Jared to the den. At first glance he seemed to be watching television, but when Dean stopped in the doorway, nervous despite his best efforts, he didn’t hear any sound. Jared had a habit of muting the commercials and must’ve spaced out since the last one. He was sprawled in the overstuffed chair, long legs apart, one thrown over the armrest, the other stretched out. His hand was fisted in his hair, pulling, holding his head up. His hair was damp and half out of a ponytail, the way he wore it when he went running. That was a positive sign. Meant he was in control enough to be around other people.

“Hey,” Jared said, though he hadn’t moved, hadn’t given Dean any indication he’d known he was there. Of course he’d know, of course he’d be aware of when his omega was near. Especially right now.

“Hey,” Dean tried to say. Nothing came out. Tried again. Better. Slowly, he approached Jared. “I found these. Pictures. I didn’t mean to. I. They were in a book.” He held out the photographs.

Without looking at him, Jared took them. He immediately flipped the two of the same person over, but he studied the group photo for a moment.

“You don’t remember who they are?” Jared asked tonelessly, barely forming a question.

“No…”

“They’re—they _were_ —my family, Jen. My dad,” Jared thumbed over John Winchester’s smiling face, “his wife, Kate, and her sons. You’ve met that one. Gabe.”

“Gabriel?”

The sometimes-trickster, always-angel’s grin was as unmistakable as his shaggy blond hair.

“Just Gabe. I should call him. We get a card from him every year. He and his Alpha live in San Juan.” He smiled faintly, a little gleam from a fang showing through his lips. “Met in India, of all places.”

“She’s pretty,” Dean hazarded, remembering Kali.

That earned him a pleased glance from Jared. Dean wanted to bolt when Jared moved, but he was only shifting positions, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. Dean had to move closer to him to see the picture. He didn’t have to. He knew who three of the four other people in the picture were and he could guess the last.

Jared smelled like pitch.

“Mike, the oldest of the Novak brothers,” Jared continued, thumb moving towards the one Dean didn’t recognise. Slender, black hair and blue eyes, pointed chin, all confidence in his pose.

“Then Luke. He was an asshole. Teased me all the time. Drove me crazy.”

Lucifer was looking over at Sam in the picture. Jared. Looking at Jared.

“That’s Adam. Kate’s favourite, that kid. He was alright. Stubborn. The youngest of the brothers. And that’s. Um, James.”

Castiel was wearing a smile so bright in the picture it must have been like looking into the sun to see it in real life. His Cas had never looked so happy.

“Where are they all?”

Jared shuffled the pictures around. It seemed a random movement, but Dean saw. Only Cas, this James, remained in view, at the end of the line of boys, his arm draped around Jared’s shoulders. Jared shrugged.

“Dad’s dead. Stroke. Kate went back to Minnesota after that. I was away at college when it happened. Adam went with her, think he’s still there. Always the mama’s boy. Mike is in the police force in Dallas. I think Luke is working his way to owning a casino in Las Vegas. I didn’t get along with them very well, to put it mildly. Alpha bullshit, all day, all the time. I was twelve when Dad married Kate, and Mike was living at home still but going to college, Luke about to graduate high school. I’d already presented as Alpha and they just hounded me. Dad thought it was best for me to be with them as much as possible, have dominant role models, whatever. It was bullshit. They were jerks. Gabe didn’t help the matter any, always trying to protect me, get them to lay off. Made it worse being stood up for by an omega. Adam ignored me. I think he resented me. Missed his dad, and my dad wasn’t good enough, so he just pretended we weren’t there. Dad let it fly because Kate was happy.”

“James?” Dean prompted.

Jared hesitated. His scent changed. The pitch softened, warmed, running maple just under the surface. He tucked an errant strand of hair behind his ear and examined Dean for a brief moment.

“Your lip looks better.”

Dean said nothing.

“Will you…come sit with me? On the couch?”

Dean sighed inwardly. Of course he would. He shouldn’t have come in here at all. Fucking fuck these pheromones, fuck Jared’s chestnut hair straggling around Sam’s hazel eyes, screw how hard his heart thumped when Jared stood, massive. Fuck the way the Alpha’s scent and heat licked like fire at Dean’s body, how it felt so natural to follow Jared to the couch and settle next to him.

“How’s your wrist?”

Dean flexed his fingers for an answer. Jared nodded, biting the tip of his tongue to keep the apology at bay. With his right hand, Dean tapped the picture. Jared was the one to jump this time, startled that Dean would come into his space.

“Where’s Jimmy?” Dean asked, knowing that’s what he would’ve gone by.

“Dead. He drowned,” Jared said flatly, but his hand was shaking as he put the pictures on the table, pushing them away with a fingertip.

Dean hated this place more than ever.

“Oh. What happened?”

“He just. He walked into the water and drowned,” Jared answered, a thickness to his voice, tears in the sound. Grief.

“You sayin’ he killed himself?”

Jared nodded again.

Dean had to bite his cheek to get enough saliva in his mouth to say, “You guys were close.”

“Jensen, I don’t know if we should talk about this right now,” Jared blurted.

“Have we ever talked about it?”

“No. I don’t… I’ve never.”

Dean touched Jared. His hand was on Jared’s knee before he knew what he was doing. An automatic gesture of comfort meant for someone he cared about. Jared’s brow furrowed, his cheeks flushed, but he didn’t move.

Finally: “He and I. Jimmy, we got along right away. He had a ton of books, for one thing.”

Dean still had his hand on Jared’s knee.

“Dad didn’t let me bring most of mine when we moved. Too heavy. Jimmy had the weirdest collection—poetry, ancient science fiction, stuff about horticulture and animal husbandry, beekeeping, and all these racy art books.”

“Ah, the type of porn you don’t have to hide from your parents ’cause it’s classy.”

“Exactly. I loved being in his room. He never let his brothers in, but I had a free pass. Used to let me sleep in there, on the floor, during the summer. We’d stay up and look at the stars. He had a cool telescope. Could see the moon like it was right there, you know? We were inseparable for the first year or so. He’s the only one that made me feel like I really was his brother.”

Dean smiled. “An Alpha, too?” he wondered. Didn’t want to know.

“Beta.”

For some reason, Dean was relieved.

Jared was looking down at Dean’s hand on his leg. “It started like that,” he said very slowly.

“Wha—what started?” Dean didn’t want to ask. Had to ask.

“Messing around. Thirteen, I guess. He was fifteen, but he always looked older. Smart, or _wise_ ,” Jared chuckled, self consciously, and glanced at him again. Dean felt frozen, especially after Jared put his large hand over his, very gently.

“He was messed up, though. Depressed, I think. He’d sleep for days and days sometimes, or be awake for just as many. He’d ramble on about the strangest stuff, like how some things were good and some things weren’t, like they had an intrinsic nature. He was convinced Luke and Mike were doomed because they were good guys doing bad things and something about universal repercussions, I don’t know, Jen, it was all—” He shut his mouth abruptly.

“Insane?” Dean supplied, finding his voice again.

“I didn’t mean—”

“So you’ve got a thing for crazy guys. Why didn’t you say any of this before?”

Jared shifted uncomfortably. “Dunno. Thought you’d be, maybe… I didn’t want you to be mad. Jealous. That isn’t right, really. I was—it just. It hurts, I guess.”

“In love with him?”

“Yeah. As much as a thirteen-year-old can be, anyway, but it got—I was gonna say worse. Better? Kept getting stronger. We had to hide it. If Dad found out, he’d have beat the shit out of both of us. We were family, first. Always family first with him. Not that he practiced what he preached, or he’d have noticed the other Alphas picking on me, noticed when Jimmy got all weird from time to time. Noticed us.”

“Did anyone know?”

“Gabe. Jimmy kissed me in front of him one night. I think he wanted someone to see it. That we were happy. Gabe kept our secret, had our backs if we were late home or mixed up our excuses.”

“How long?”

“A long time. I went to college. Jimmy moved closer to UTSA, got a job at a ranch. He was so good with animals, like he could talk to them or something. I’d see him as often as I could.”

 _Dean, what the fuck are you doing this for?_ “What was he really like?”

Jared’s hand tightened on his. “He was beautiful. The picture. That was him. So bright. Hurt to look at him sometimes. He was gentle, and patient. Smart. There’s only ever been you and him, Jensen.”

“Oh.”

“I should have noticed when it started getting really bad. At the end. His work would call me because he wouldn’t come out of his room. I’d find him on the floor. Could tell he hadn’t been eating, wouldn’t eat, no matter what—it was one of those ‘bad things’.” As if he expected Dean to nod in understanding, Jared watched him, nervous tension around his mouth. But Dean didn’t understand, couldn’t relate, and after a moment Jared continued. “He’d be so sad. So hopeless, but I could never really understand why, what exactly the problem was. There wasn’t one, I guess, just the way he felt. His back would hurt, and I’d rub it for him. He’d cry, it hurt so bad. Took him to get it checked a few times, but there wasn’t anything wrong with it, either. There was a place about an hour outside of the city, a sinkhole filled in with water, and whenever it was warm enough, I’d take him to it.”

Another glance, nervous still, and Dean thought maybe a little guilt was there too. Jared had never offered to take Dean—Jensen—anywhere. “Carry him out into the water with me. Something about it would wake him up. I’d wade out ’til he couldn’t touch and he’d hold onto my neck and we’d stand there. Watch the clouds. Watch the sun go down, the stars come up. He’d start talking eventually, pointing out constellations. Be okay after that for awhile. I should’ve noticed. I should have protected him. Too much like my fucking dad, I guess.”

“No,” Dean said automatically.

“You never met him, Jen, but thanks.” Jared drew in a long breath and leaned back, sliding down a little as if it were too much effort to keep himself upright. He was still holding Dean’s hand. “Do you want to hear more?”

 _No_. “Yeah.” _Okay, then._

“When he was happy, he was fucking insatiable,” Jared said, eyes heavy lidded, searching Dean’s face as he said the words, fangs sliding into view as he tasted the air.

“He fucked me first. When we were boys. I put my hand on his leg. Not meaning anything by it, just excited about something, stars or birds or I don’t know, and he kissed me. It wasn’t even surprising once it was happening. It was perfect. I’d only ever wanted to be around him since I first got there. I couldn’t wait to see him every day. It felt _right_ when he kissed me, and I told him not to stop. Hours later, and he was inside me. It felt so good, and he had such a fucking dirty mouth, whispering in my ear about how I was going to do it to him, how he was going to train himself to take my knot when I got older. We used to play that he was the Alpha, too. Tell me what to do, make me present myself, on my knees, ass up, waiting for him when he got home. Loved going down on him. Had the most gorgeous cock. Like a piece of white marble. He was so pale, stayed out of the sun, and his cock was almost translucent, could see the veins under the skin. It was long, like this—” Jared spread his fingers out, wiggled his thumb and his pinkie. On a normal person that wouldn’t be anything to brag about, but Jared’s hands were huge, his fingers long.

Dean’s heartbeat was in his belly, his throat, the tips of his ears.

“He got me into bondage with that dick. Liked me to tie it up, leave it until it was purple. Looked so hot against his white stomach. Tap his balls to make him cry.”

Dean couldn’t react, saw Jared’s hand coming towards his face, remembered being slapped, but could not move. Jared flicked his lower lip, just the faintest of contact.

“That much and he’d come unglued. He bought a truck with the money he saved doing odd jobs after school, or helping Dad. We’d drive out to the middle of nowhere so no one could hear him scream. Fucking him like that was unbelievable. He’d beg me not to, but he didn’t mean it, and he’d be rock hard and so swollen, dick almost black from trapped blood and he’d cry when I sat on it. Fucked him, pulling his balls. Took him forever to come, but he always would. I popped my first knot with him inside me, bawling, fucking up into me.”

Watching Dean carefully, Jared moved their hands and pushed Dean’s palm against his cock, against the knot already formed there.

_Everything here is a mirror. I haven’t met Charlie, but I will, and she will be the same sweet, nutty person she is now. Alastair is vermin, evil and twisted here and there. Sam loves me. Like Jared loves Jensen. Brothers. Cas. Cas is dead, he’s Jimmy here and he’s dead but he loved Sam. Jared. Sam and Jared and Cas. Cas and Jimmy. Jared’s seen Cas naked. Kissed him. Fucked him. Sam._

Dean’s thumb swept over the bulge beneath Jared’s sweats.

“He kept his promise,” Jared continued, voice low and smooth and smoky with lust. He let go of Dean’s hand to reach out and brush his fingers through Dean’s hair. Pulled lightly and Dean scooted closer obediently, mindlessly. “Was able to take my knot in no time. Even when I kept growing, filled out. Taller than him, stronger, my dick finally bigger than his. It excited him, and he loved pain. More than you, even. He would get me hard, knotted up, and then beg me to fuck him, to push it into him. So fucking hot watching that happen, his perfect ass open up and swallow my knot, feel it lock us together.”

Jared moved, and Dean did flinch then. Like being snapped out of a trance he jerked his hand back, but Jared caught him. Gently. Held his wrist in a loose grip while he lifted his hips and pulled his sweats down to his thighs. He tugged on Dean’s arm, coaxed it back into place. The skin under Dean’s fingers was silken and warm. The tip of Jared’s cock was damp when he brushed it tentatively.

“I was so in love with him, Jen,” Jared murmured, watching Dean’s hand start to move, to slip up and down the length, ghost over the knot. “I’ve never told you because I didn’t want it to hurt you to know how much I loved him. But it isn’t the same. With you. You’re everything to me now, but I did love him.”

“I know,” Dean said. _How could I blame you?_

“He wanted me to mark him. I wouldn’t though. Kept saying we should wait ’til we were older, wait for our family to not care so much, that it didn’t matter because I loved him, and we could wait. I would say all that, fucking him, and he would still beg me to.”

“Should’ve.”

Jared’s hips bucked into Dean’s hand. He caught Dean’s chin and made him look up. “Why do you say that?”

“I. I just. He was your brother. Family. You loved him. You took care of him, like you do with—with me. I can’t be jealous of that. Think I would’ve liked him.”

Jared’s eyes narrowed, Alpha possessiveness instant and instinctive. But he licked his lips and gave a little nod after a moment.

“Yeah. You probably would’ve,” he said reluctantly. “Don’t know that I could share you, though.” Jared’s expression softened and he ran his hand down the side of Dean’s neck, his shoulder, down his arm, met Dean’s hand and curled around it, squeezing Dean’s fingers tighter over his cock, moving it, reminding Dean what to do.

“But he was exceptional. And he would’ve loved you, actually. Loved things strange and beautiful. Would’ve loved sucking my cock with you, or after I fucked you, would’ve asked to clean your hole when I came inside you. Fuck. Can imagine you two fucking for me, blowing each other, letting him fuck your ass, get it ready for me. Look so pretty together. Bright blue eyes and your brown ones, shining, looking up at me, mouths open for my come. He had a long tongue, would be able to lick so far inside you, Jen.”

Jared fell silent, eyes glazing as he watched Dean work his cock. Dean wished he had both hands so he could give more attention to the fat knot his fist thumped against, but he did the best he could. Concentrating on it, he could keep his own mind quiet, keep the whirlwind of names and faces from getting any more confused than they already were.

_Just focus on what’s in front of you._

“Wished I’d have noticed how bad he was. Should have marked him, Jen. Still would’ve found you. My perfect mate, my beautiful omega. I love you so much. Could have saved him. Hate myself. Hate it. If I’d done it differently with him. I never want to hurt you, Jensen. I’m so sorry, baby. I can’t lose you.”

“I’m right here,” Dean whispered. He had to. Wouldn’t leave Sam alone, would do anything to make him not feel this way.

“I would fucking die for you,” Jared said when he came.

Later, when they were lying in bed and Jared finally seemed sated—the pitch scent having risen to a boil before Dean had cooled it as well as he could with one hand and a busted lip and an embarrassing amount his skin bared and cock-rubbed, had made Jared come until they were both messy with it, and they’d showered together, Jared carefully washing him, frowning over the bruises he’d left—Dean asked him to tell the rest of the story.

“I surprised him, showed up at the ranch. We fucked right there in the barn, up against the wall. I should’ve known something wasn’t right. He was so quiet, but he wanted it, like he was desperate for it, for me. He asked me again, at the end, to mark him but I said no. Again. I don’t know anymore why I was waiting. I didn’t really think about it. We were both grown men, Dad was dead, Jimmy’s brothers all scattered, but I just said no. Like it was a game or something, making him wait. After, he said we should go to the swimming hole. It was early spring, so there wasn’t anyone around, and we took his pickup and sleeping bags and watched the stars like we used to when we were k-kids.”

Jared said all of this quickly, like he’d gone over the whole thing many times and had narrowed it down to the important parts, but his voice caught on the last word and Dean knew he was crying. Knew it because he was, too.

Knowing the ending didn’t make it hurt less.

“He got out of the truck while I was asleep and. There are these underwater holes, like a spot where a boulder fell out of the bedrock and left a little cave. Not the kind of thing you’d get trapped in unless. Unless you wanted to. Had to dive down deep to get to them. I woke up at dawn and he wasn’t next to me, and I just knew. I went to the lip of the sinkhole, this place up high where the kids would dive off, right? And I could see him, under the water, wedged in one of those caves. I pulled him out. He was so heavy, weighed like a hundred times himself. It was way too late, of course. I got investigated and all that, but he had a history of depression and I was just his brother hanging out with him, and then his mother got a letter he’d mailed that was basically a suicide note. It didn’t say anything about us, just that he was unhappy and knew there was no saving him. That’s what he said: no one could save him.”

Dean pulled Jared towards him, rolling over, keeping Jared’s hand in his. Pressing it to his chest, and he let Jared cup himself against his back. Dean closed his eyes and wished this all away until he fell asleep.

Charlie woke them up the next morning. Jared was octopused around him, heavy and comfortable, and Dean wanted the phone to stop ringing, but it would not, and he had to piss terribly anyway, and his arm hurt, ached from the elbow down.

“Jared, move,” he grumbled.

Jared buried his face into Dean’s neck and shook his head.

“Gotta—pain pills, c’mon, man.”

Jared relented at that, taking his hard cock and his hot skin away, and Dean shivered as he shuffled across the floor and took the cellphone with him to the bathroom.

“Jens! You didn’t call me, stupid-face.”

“Stupid-face,” he said.

“Hey! Hey, are you peeing while you’re talking to me? Gross.”

“Water, for my pills. Wait. Now. Now I’m peeing.”

“ _Ugh_. Over it. Want me to come get you? Get you out of the house. If you’re not gonna give Jared some anti-rut lovin’, best if you’re not around getting him all bothered.”

“I…well, yeah, um, I don’t know. It’s not as bad as it was.”

“ _Ha_!”

“Keep your ha’s to yourself. I admit to nothing.”

“Whatever. But, sad. I wanted you to come to the mall with me.”

“Uh, no. For more than one reason. The first being my face. Not keen on walking around like this.” Not that he’d ever cared about a fat lip before, but everyone would _know_. That he’d been disobedient and had been beaten. That _Jared_ had done it.

“What the fuck?” he said.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just not thinking clear today.”

“Aw, Jens. But listen, see, this mall, we’ve been there before and no one is going to care. Probably be omegas with worse walking around. There won’t be anyone else there.”

“What like, omega-only?”

“Exactly. There’s not many perks, but safe, un-harassed shopping is one of them. Come on. Don’t make me whine.”

“I—” _really want to crawl back into bed with Jared._ “Come get me.”

“Wee! See you in half.”

Dean brushed his teeth. His lip didn’t bleed: that was a plus. The skin under his nose was bruised and swollen still, but healing. His black eye was fading, his wine-stained eyelid just yellow now, the purple around the socket green, the burst vessels in his eye only little streaks like he’d been stoned earlier or something.

_Fuckin’ at least that would be a drug I could enjoy, but nooo._

When Dean emerged, hair tamed, and smelling clean, Jared was awake, lying on his back slightly propped up in bed, and he frowned. Dean pretended not to see it and started getting dressed.

“That was Charlie. She wants to take me to the mall, I guess.”

“I don’t want you to go, Jensen,” Jared said and Dean knew he was making an effort not to sound demanding.

“I. I just. I want. To think,” he threw out.

“Are you upset about what I told you last night?”

Dean sighed. He’d gotten his underwear on, a tee shirt, but his pants weren’t cooperating and he didn’t think he was going to be able to button them anyway.

“I’ll help you, honey. I’m sorry. About everything. You can go with Charlie, of course. Come over here, though.”

Dean watched, blushing, as Jared’s hands finished what Dean’s had started, buttoning his jeans and threading his belt, and then those hands settled on his hips and pulled him close. Jared rested the side of his face against Dean’s belly.

“I hope you can forgive me. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Thank you for stopping me, for knowing I was out of control and not just letting me do what I wanted. You were right, and I would have regretted it. I do, but it could have been worse, and just—thank you. And I’m sorry I never told you about Jimmy. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust you or wanted to hide it from you—”

“Jared, don’t, okay? I know why. I’m not upset about last night. It’s fine. I’m glad I know, actually. As for what happened, just forget it. Let me go out with Charlie, okay? Take a break from each other for a couple hours, huh? I can, I mean, um—I’m kinda worried. About you. That it’ll happen again. Can, uh, tell, you know?”

The Alpha’s scent was getting sharper, wilder, a chaotic blend of a forest uprooted, surging water, a landslide that was making Dean, very, very nervous. To his relief, Jared nodded, though he rubbed his face against Dean’s body like a cat leaving its scent on the corner of a table, and Dean fought the urge to try to pry him off. Fighting back only makes it worse, Charlie had warned him.

“Please?” he said instead.

He fled as soon as Jared released him, to the front of the house to wait for Charlie. He pulled his boots on, but had to leave them untied. Charlie would do it for him, he figured.

He was right.

“Sweet ride,” he said when her little yellow car pulled up to the curb and he opened the door before she could knock.

“Thanks! My chariot. Get in. Get donuts. Get coffee. Get happy. Wait, don’t trip. What are you, like, four?”

The mall was a strange place. Not at first glance: people were wandering around in groups and pairs. Pushing strollers, herding toddlers, and gaggles of pre-teens tittered by. But on closer inspection—and it was easy enough because people looked back at Dean, smiled even, unlike on the street where eye contact was kept at a minimum because of Alpha aggression or omega submissiveness—every single one of them had brown eyes. The variations were startling. Chocolate, both milk and dark, rust, sepia and mahogany, and shades in between Dean hadn’t known existed, all of them lit up like christmas lights from the inside. The glances glittered and gleamed, spat sparks and twinkled, and Dean wished for the first time, and for only a second before he stomped the thought to death, that his eyes were like theirs.

A male omega was on the escalator in front of them, an infant on his shoulder, and the child drooled on its fingers, little chips of orange light like sunstone catching and flaring in its doe-eyes as it blinked at Dean.

“All babies here have brown eyes?” Dean asked, confused.

“Babies have omega traits until they present, then their eyes change, or don’t, depending. Most do change. I blocked out a lot of school too, but dang, Jen.”

“Remember that secret, Charlie? The thing we don’t tell Alastair about? I don’t ‘already know’ this stuff. Just humour me, at least.”

She did, and kept her incredulousness to herself, for the most part. There were lots of places like this everywhere, she explained. Omega-only stores and malls where they could leave the constraints of the dominant world at the door and go about their lives whether they were in heat, claimed, or otherwise. Together, they smelled like the jelly bean factory he’d demanded Sam take him to when they were in San Francisco.

She bought them a box of donuts and two huge coffees and settled down at the table nearest to a comic books store Charlie could hardly take her eyes off of.

“Plotting my route,” she mumbled around a maple bar. “Hit my inbox first, get my new mags, check out the action figures. Need a new bobblehead, definitely, then into the archive bins. Got some holes in my collection need fillin’ _real bad_.”

Dean nearly blew powdered sugar through his nose. She gave him a wicked smile.

“So, speakin’ of, and I know you don’t wanna hear all this, but Jared. He really does need your help. Teenagers, they go into a rut once or twice, but their bodies are meant for it. It floods their brain with all the right ooey-gooey hormones, flushes out the last of the omega-ness they’re born with. It happens for a reason, and they get a week off school or whatever, wrassle with themselves all day, no one bothers them, no big deal. When it happens to an adult though, it can like, burn them out. Damage their glands. Fry their brain, basically. Alastair was telling me—”

“You’re right, I don’t want to hear this.”

“It could really mess him up, though,” Charlie insisted.

“So have Alastair fix it.”

But something occurred to him—Alastair. He had as much access to Jared as he did Dean and Charlie. Those sleeping pills. Maybe Alastair was messing with Jared, too.

“Well, he’s going to try, but it’s hard. It would be easier. For you. To help. Seriously, Jens, Jared could be really damaged from this.”

“You said teenagers can just work it out themselves, why can’t he?”

“He’s mature, his brain is different. You’re kinda acting like you don’t care.”

“Look, I do care. I care a lot.” _I can’t fucking help it. Drugs, Sam, Jimmy, Cas, Jared. Which way is up?_

The picture of James Novak with his arm around Jared flashed through Dean’s mind. Jimmy’s hair had been about the same as Cas’, bed-messy and spiked, but he’d been wearing a white, skin-tight, long-sleeved shirt with a ripped, faded tee over it, probably a band shirt, and too-long, low-waisted jeans that flared out at the bottoms. He probably went to raves, Dean thought, and laughed out loud. Charlie paused mid-gobble into a cruller, eyebrows up.

“Nothing. Stuff your face, sweet cheeks. I wanna go get some new clothes,” Dean said.

Highly caffeinated and having consumed more sugar than a human body should in one sitting, he fidgeted around the comics store while Charlie squeed over new arrivals, got her bobblehead—one that Dean pointed out, it having reminded him of the astro-girl on the cover of Jimmy’s old science fiction book—but he dragged her away from the bins of comics and towards a J.Crew-ish store he’d spotted on the way in.

“That,” Charlie said more than an hour later, holding half of Dean’s bags in one hand, her other laden with her own, “would have made a _fabulous_ montage.”


	12. Chapter 12

** Sam **

Jensen’s heat lasted almost a week. For Sam, it was as if no one else was alive on the planet, or if there was, they left the lovers completely alone. The telephone didn’t ring once (that he was aware of), Castiel did not appear suddenly, too close and smelling like flowers (or if he had shown up, the overpowering scent of Jensen’s slick and heat pervading every corner of Bobby’s house had driven him away), and Sam couldn't come up with a single reason to leave the house, or even the bedroom, really. That Bobby had several extra freezers full of food located around the property helped immensely, but both he and Jensen lost weight anyway, too busy fucking to eat more than once a day. The omega was demanding, lascivious, and without shame, and Sam loved it. He knew somewhere in the back of his mind he was probably unable _not_ to love it, that the pheromones Jensen was giving off were designed to keep them together, that whatever the angels had mangled in these creature’s genetics had made them irresistible to their Earthly counterparts somehow.

Sam didn’t care about all of that, though. He knew, he understood. Did not care.

Jensen was fascinating. The heat seemed to stabilise his personality some and Sam liked very much what he learned of the kid. And Sam swore to him, kissed promises into his mouth, that he wanted to know about it all. Was not put off by what he’d gone through, what he’d become. And when he could speak, when he was not mewling in pleasure or begging Sam to ease his pain, he told Sam who he was.

Sam could have guessed most of it and been right.

There were differences between Jensen and Dean, of course. Jensen didn’t drink, on account of the medications, he insisted. He didn’t care about sports or cheerleaders. He could play the guitar, and sang beautifully. He laughed: not sardonically, either. He giggled, hiding it behind his hand demurely, or belly laughed, head back, eyes shut, and Sam laughed with him when that happened, Jensen’s delight contagious. He was clever, had a wit that left Sam in the dust sometimes trying to work out if he’d been playfully insulted, sincerely complimented, or outright lied to, and Jensen’s face gave away so little. Dean was easy to read, and Sam had gotten used to knowing when Dean said one thing and was feeling another, but Jensen could give a world-class poker player pause. He liked to rile, liked to get Sam frustrated, liked to be bratty and coy and mercurial to the point Sam would growl at him, honestly irritated, and Jensen would slide his lashes over his forest-fire eyes and his hand would come up to cover his lips and Sam wanted to shake him even as he laughed despite himself.

And then Jensen asked him to shake him, took Sam’s hand and put it over his throat, said he wanted bruises, wanted Sam’s marks on him.

He got what he wanted.

After three days in bed, the room Sam had cleared most of the books and car parts from and bought a mattress for and offered to Jensen, was a mess. Half-eaten food, spilled water bottles mopped up by clothes covered in slick and come, lore books and notes; all of it was littered about. It was too hot and heavily scented. Sam thought they might have showered the day before. Definitely not today. He rolled off the mattress, stepped on a plate, kicked it out of the way, and stretched. Winced. Jensen’s long nails had left a few gouges along his back, apparently. He was sleeping, or what passed as sleeping after he’d come. He just blacked out, really. Some mating thing, Sam assumed. Kept him from wandering off and being found by another Alpha while in heat, same reason guys fall asleep after sex, kept them from slinking away to knock up some other female, kept them in the cave. Strengthened the bond between partners.

He opened a window and started cleaning up, not worrying about waking Jensen. This post-orgasm sleep was deep, hard to disturb. Left him rather vulnerable, Sam thought, but then, that’s what an Alpha was for. Jensen had taken to calling him that. Usually during sex, but sometimes not, and Sam found himself answering to it. Becoming it. Jensen was his now. It was as if Jensen had always been his, had always been here.

Sending him back was something Sam hadn’t thought about lately.

He gathered his notes and the books. He’d tried finding some other way to get his brother back, a Plan B, but had come up with zilch. Jensen was becoming more and more interested in ‘the magicks’, as he called it, though in his heightened, preoccupied state, he couldn’t necessarily help Sam research, but he liked it when Sam read to him; he asked questions, remembered things and made connections, and Sam thought he’d make a fine researcher when he was clear headed.

Jensen slept for several hours and Sam took the opportunity to raid the freezers again, finding a stash of ready-bake pot pies in one. Easy enough. He pitched them in the old oven, beeped the timer for an hour, and decided he couldn’t wait any longer for a shower.

“Jen. Hey, wake up.”

“Mm. No.”

“Yes. Come shower with me.”

“No. Sleep.”

Sam picked up him. Jensen grumbled and kicked half-heartedly, but once Sam set him on his feet in the bathroom he was a little more coherent. And fucking adorable, hair smooshed flat on one side, sticking up in the front, lips plump and pouty, rubbing his eyes with his fist, glaring feebly at Sam as he adjusted the water temperature to as cold as he could stand it. Jensen had fainted once already when Sam had turned it up too warm and they’d both gone down hard in the tub.

Jensen let Sam sud and scrub him into cleanliness, and Sam let him sit in the bottom of the tub, eyes closed, as he washed himself. He was nearly done, rinsing soap out of his eyes, when he felt hands on him, on his ass, kneading and spreading, and then Sam felt his tongue. A long swipe that started on his balls and ended at his tailbone.

“Damn. Good morning, sunshine,” he said over his shoulder, hands against the wall as Jensen pushed his face into Sam’s ass. He got no reply, just more tongue. Soft, slippery, insistent, Jensen held his cheeks apart and had his tongue inside him before Sam could decide if he wanted it there or not.

He did, in retrospect. It felt incredible. He spread his legs, angling his back, and he felt Jensen hum approval against him. His cock was hard. How it was hard was a fucking mystery to Sam. He’d not had so many erections, ever, even as a teenager. Even riding in the car next to Dean. Something about the omega, his scent, his slick, his wantonness, his face. Body, cock, ass. Everything about him turned Sam on, made Sam want to fuck him, own him, bend him, pin him, keep him close and safe and all the things he could not do for, and to, his brother. It all boiled over and out of him, and Jensen was the match that had lit this fire, Jensen was the focus of this passion and desire and need. Protect him, love him, give everything he could to him, and what got Sam hard, what made him come as Jensen reached around his hip and stroked him through it, was that Jensen wanted it. Whatever Sam had to give him, Jensen welcomed it, encouraged it. Did not turn it away, ignore or deny it, overlook it. Dismiss it. Like Dean would.

It was almost dusk and they were a little pruned by the time the water was shut off, and the pot pies were dark around the edges but still good. Sam ate two. Jensen picked at his, ate the crust with his fingers and most of the potatoes, and Sam ate the rest of it when Jensen pushed it away. He discovered Jensen did indeed like cookies and got the kid to eat a couple oatmeal raisin ones and that was good enough.

Jensen put his arms around Sam, leaning against his back as Sam put their dishes in the sink. “Take me for a drive, Sam. Get outta here for a minute. Wanna go look at the stars. Jared never wanted to for some reason. Wanna do that with me?”

“I’d like that.”

The drive to the bluffs was the shortest one Sam had ever made on the account of Jensen tucking himself under Sam’s arm and shucking his jeans down once they were away from the street lights. That the omega couldn’t come from jerking off alone was just about the hottest thing Sam could have thought up. If he’d wanted to, he could have driven two miles an hour and Jensen would have been hard the whole way without the threat of coming too soon.

He didn’t drive that slow. In fact, he was pretty sure even Dean would have told him to slow the fuck down. But Jensen liked it, was giggling and gasping as Sam threw them around corners and caught just a little air over the rolling hills. The stars were starting to come out as he guided Baby up the gravel lane to the top of the bluffs and angled the car away from the lights of the city in the distance. He and Dean had come out here so many times over the years to watch the stars, to get away from their dad and Bobby when they’d started drinking, before they started arguing, to escape the heat and lay on Baby’s hood as the ceaseless wind dusted away the world for awhile. He wished Dean were here now.

Not that Jensen wasn’t. Just that Dean was, too.

“Wanna get out?” Sam asked when he’d parked.

“I like it in here,” Jensen said, voice soft, cock hard and exposed, stroking himself lightly with two fingers wet with slick. “It smells like you. Like your whole life is in here.”

“Kind of is.”

“Smell your little kid breath, milk-sour and happy, smell your teenage rut, so bored and horny and salty.” Jensen wiggled around, used his wadded up coat—one of Dean’s, a green army jacket—as a pillow against the passenger door, kicked off his pants and slung his legs open, one over the seat, the other nudging at Sam’s legs under the steering wheel. He was wet, the honey tang of his slick making Sam’s mouth water. Jensen ran his hands down the insides of his thighs, framed his cock, lifted his sac to the side so Sam could see the shadow between his legs, see where he’d had his hand and his cock and his tongue so many times in the last few days.

“Your blood is everywhere in here, know that, Sam? It’s soaked into the seats, the floor. Burns my throat.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You’ve been happy, too. Like you are now. Happy and in love. Do you love me, Sam?”

“Yeah. I do.”

Jensen’s fingers dipped into the darkness. Sam heard them squish as they pushed inside.

“You smell the same now as you have in here. If you love me, you love your brother.”

“More,” Sam said, and Jensen twisted his body to comply. They both knew what he meant.

“His blood’s in here, too,” Jensen said, breath coming faster as he fisted his cock, moved his fingers inside himself, watching Sam with eyes that somehow caught even the starlight and glittered. “It’s strange, makes me think I’m hurt somehow, that it’s my blood under your hands.”

Sam could smell it, too. Castiel was right: just being around Jensen had begun the change. Having been inside him, swallowed his sweat, saliva, slick, and come, had heightened Sam’s sense of smell astronomically. He supposed it had altered his brain somehow. Didn’t care.

“It’s not your blood,” Sam said. “That won’t ever happen.”

“Protective Alpha. Thank you. You want to protect your brother, too. Can smell that, even now. You’re always in two places at once, Sam. Always thinking of him. Think about him when you fuck me?”

“I do,” Sam said. He reached over and pulled Jensen’s hand out of his ass, brought it to his mouth and sucked the fingers clean. Then he replaced them with his own. Jensen gasped loudly, back arching up, Sam knowing now exactly where to touch him to make him writhe. “Not all the time, though. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, Alpha. I don’t mind that you do. Love him. Want him. Ah, fuck, feels good! Want to fuck him, Sam? You can.” Jensen let go of his cock and put his hands out, reaching for Sam, lifted his hips up, offering himself.

“Get in the back seat,” Sam ordered and knocked the door open as Jensen scrambled to obey.

Sam stood just long enough to shove his pants down. He opened the back door and, reaching into the car, grabbed Jensen’s hips and jerked him to the edge of the seat. He was wide-eyed and grinning at Sam, scrabbling at his shoulders, trying to pull him down, to kiss him, but Sam shoved Jensen back and slapped his hands away.

“Okay, Sam, yeah, whatever you want, whatever he would do, just show me,” he urged.

“Close your eyes,” Sam gritted. “And shut up.”

There was a little whimper, but Jensen did as he was told, closing his eyes tightly and biting his lip. He turned his face away, and that tipped the scene for Sam, made it just believable enough that it was his brother naked and open beneath him. Dean wouldn’t be able to look at him, not the first time at least. He would be ashamed, be off somewhere in his own head, already building a defense against this memory should things go badly, and Sam would let him, would take it as a challenge to make everything perfect, to make it so next time Dean _had_ to open his eyes and watch what Sam was doing, would _want_ to see.

This was the perfect place. The Impala was their home, their bedroom, their shelter from everything. Arguments, laughter, pranks, long stretches of companionable silence, and Sam knew now he’d always, _always_ , wanted to add sex to the list of things the car has contained. Dean’d fucked in here before, of course, and Sam even nailed Ruby a couple of times in the front seat, the little demoness able to fit between his body and the steering wheel quite easily, but having Dean skin to vinyl was all he cared about now. He wanted Dean to never be able to look at Baby without thinking of Sam, without remembering.

He didn’t try to kiss Jensen. Dean would never want that. Not until he did want it, anyway. But as often as Dean mentioned his own nipples in one way or another, Sam was sure there was a reason. The flannel opened with a rip and a clatter of buttons. Jensen’s were sensitive anyway because of his heat, but it worked in Sam’s favour when he thumbed them, when his brother’s body gasped, when Dean’s hands splayed out against the seats, nails a little too long, fingers not crooked enough, but still right. Sam pinched and plucked at the little nubs of flesh until they stayed hard, and the leaking cock against his own belly was jumping with every touch. Sam moved back, resting his knees on the edge of the open doorway, boots digging into the gravel. He curled, angling his body the right way, and as he felt the head of his cock slip inside, he said again, “I love you.”

The thick bottom lip was caught between teeth, sucked in. Perfect eyebrows were drawn down in concentration, sunflower eyelashes fluttered but did not separate, and this was how Dean would look with Sam inside of him for the first time.

“I love you,” he repeated.

The wet lip was released, a quiet, broken breath caught in a constricted throat moan was the reply, then a whispered sound: “Love you, too, Sam.”

Sam lasted longer than he expected to. The painful dig of metal into his shins probably helped. Jensen had not been able to keep quiet. Arms stretched above him, hands on the opposite door to keep Sam from pounding him across the bench seat, he’d eventually started urging Sam on.

“Fuck me, Sam. Can smell what it does to you thinking about him. Want your big brother’s ass so bad, want to fuck him like this, don’t you? So hard and fast and have him love your big cock like I do, fucking love it! Want to use him, make him want you to. Want him to watch you fuck me, don’t you? Want both of us, twins, little omegas just for you—”

The thought of both of them, green eyes and brown, teasing, stubborn, silly and slutty, because he knew Jensen was, knew Dean would be eventually, just _knew it_ , on their knees for him, made him come and he said both of their names when it happened. Dean’s first, and tears burned behind his eyelids as he did. Then as Jensen fought his way into Sam’s arms, held on, half-laughing gasps of pleasure against Sam’s mouth, he said the omega’s name, opening his lips to Jensen’s tongue, kissing his way down his neck, burying his face into his shoulder.

When he could breath again, he looked down at Jensen.

“Fucking twisted, aren’t you?” Sam growled, snapping his hips, cock still hard, and Jensen’s eyes rolled back.

“What if I am? You like it. Was I good? Will you let me come, Alpha?”

Sam made him fuck himself first, had Jensen on his knees, balanced on one hand, the other up to his wrist in his own ass as he sucked Sam’s cock. Sam didn’t come again, just leaned his forehead on his arm, rested on Baby’s roof and let Jensen work himself into a begging mess below him as he let the random, seriously perverted and erotic images he’d apparently been storing up since he was ten or so of his brother flash through his mind, let them play at warp speed without judgment or discernment until the font was tapped out, or they’d all blended into one, and that had become less of a picture and more of a feeling, an ache. No. Agony.

He yarded Jensen out of the car and onto the hood and had the panting, whining omega coming on his own chest in moments, Sam’s knuckles probably bruising the inside of his body with the force he was twisting his hand around with. Jensen cleaned them both with his tongue and then went still beside Sam as they stretched out on Baby and finally looked up.

Sam thought Jensen had fallen asleep again, he was so quiet. But after a while, he touched Sam’s hand.

“You’re more my Alpha every day. You do love me, Sam. I know you do. But I know you love Dean more.”

“Not fair to you then, is it?”

“For once, I would like to decide what’s good for me, what’s fair.”

“Well?”

“It really doesn’t bother me. You can love your brother and me at the same time. There’s room for that. I wouldn’t ask to claim something I have no right to. And besides, sometimes packs are formed.”

“Packs?”

“They aren’t socially acceptable where I’m from, but some people still do it. One Alpha with an omega if they’re bonded, and a beta. Or several betas. Sometimes Alphas and betas pair before the Alpha finds its omega and they all stay together.”

“Jensen, what you’re not saying is that you don’t want to go back. How can you leave your Alpha? I thought you were bonded for life.”

“Yeah, we are. But, Sam, if I don’t have to, I don’t want to. Talk about it. Right now. Or go back. I think, anyway. I need a little more time. Do you think I can love Jared and you both?”

“I wonder if it isn’t the heat talking, honestly.”

“Then give me more time.”

“Do you feel like I’m just replacing my brother with you until I get him back?”

“Ask me that again later, too.”

“Fair enough.”

“I wouldn’t hold it against you if you were, though. I don’t mind being used. It’s what I was made for, really,” Jensen said without irony in his voice. “And you are so good. You love your brother so much. I know how freaked out you are about what might happen to him, about maybe not getting him back, and you still take care of me. You are doing as much as you can for both of us. Do I give you pleasure? Some comfort, at least?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to go away?”

“No.”

Jensen tilted his head up and looked at Sam. Fireworks.

The rest of the week played out much as it started, though the intensity of Jensen’s heat slowly wore off. He slept even longer after orgasms but ate a little more when he was awake, and finally Sam woke up on the seventh day and Jensen was in the kitchen in one of Dean’s blue tee shirts and a pair of Sam’s boxers, making them waffles. His scent, the narcotic-honey of his slick and coconut cream of his body and breath, was faint, a tropical breeze opposed to the maced sensation Sam had first encountered when he’d kicked open the kid’s door.

That it had been keeping Castiel away Sam was sure of when he appeared later that day, breathing shallowly. He finally just asked Sam if they could step outside.

“Tell me you got something, Cas.”

“I have it on good authority that the Alastair you killed here had indeed been using fairies to explore other parts of the universe, including where Dean is. He’d even contacted other variations of himself.”

“But why?”

“That I don’t know. Possibly looking for different creatures to torture. He had several kinds of fae at his disposal, including one that was a burrower, and even though there is no magic where Dean is trapped, these particular fairies could create temporary shifts, rifts in time, or energetic doorways, if you will, and Dean and Jensen were switched using one of these doorways.”

“Can they—is the door still open?”

“I’m afraid not. It’s a singular occurrence that upsets the balance so much that the fabric of time and space knit back together even stronger than before. And besides, Alastair killed the burrower. The rest, if there are any, have gone into hiding.”

“So what now?”

“That’s the good news. Although their magic is nulled where Dean is, there is another type of fairy that has access to the world. It likes to do chores.”

“Chores, Cas?”

Cas made an exasperated face at Sam. “If you tell it something is messy, it wants to ‘tidy the place up’. I simply told it that Dean is out of place and it could help clean things up if it did a favour and took something to him.”

“You found one that will do that? You’re a genius!”

“Yes. Thank you, Sam.”

“How did you figure all this out?”

Castiel had practiced the lie. “I had a favour owed me from a lesser angel who has dominion over the patch of Scotland where these fairies live.” He could not tell Sam that Crowley had plucked the limbs from four of the shrieking, mouse-sized beings before the last one left agreed to be an interdimensional mule. Or that Castiel had agreed to help the King of Hell locate Purgatory for his assistance. “We still need something silver that belongs to Dean. And to Jensen.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, keeping his own secrets from Cas for now. “I’ll ask him about that.”

The binding ceremony would be done at the same time as the moon ritual, which gave them two weeks to find something suitable. Sam had been looking. He’d torn through Dean’s things twice, but there was nothing except a bullet tip, but both he and Castiel worried that it didn’t have enough personal value to Dean, that the connection wouldn’t be strong enough.

Jensen was the one that found Dean’s ring. The first evening after his heat he was hyper and the weather was stifling as summer hit the plains finally, and Sam suggested they wash Baby to cool down and give the kid something to do. And he didn’t want Dean pissed off when he came back because his car was dusty. Let alone what needed to be cleaned out of the inside after their night on the bluffs.

Jensen offered to clean the interior and Sam outfitted him with Armor All and rags and was taking stock of the holy water and salt in the trunk when Jensen appeared next to him, the ring gleaming in his palm. He’d been unwedging grit and bottle caps and granola bar wrappers from between the cushions of the back seat when he’d found it. Sam kissed him. Dean had worn the ring most of his adult life and had been sure he’d lost it when he’d confronted Lucifer. When Lucifer had beaten him almost to death using Sam’s body. Figured the ring had slid off his bloody finger and was in the grass somewhere in that graveyard. It was pure silver, nicked from being used as a beer opener countless times. Dean would recognise it instantly.

“Do you have something silver that we can get from your home, Jensen?” Sam asked him later.

Jensen was cramming popcorn in his mouth like he couldn’t exist without it. It was definitely his favourite of all the new foods Sam had introduced him to. He blinked innocently at Sam and crunched his way to a clean palm. Then he carefully set the bowl aside and wiped his hands on Dean’s jeans.

 _We’re going to have to get him his own clothes,_ Sam thought.

Jensen was still looking at him.

“Oh,” Sam said aloud.

“Yeah. Why don’t you ask me those questions again?”

“Was it just the heat that made you want me?”

Jensen shook his head. “Is it just because I remind you of your brother that you want me?” he asked.

“Not ‘just because’. Well, no. I mean. It’s confusing, I guess.”

“Mm. Not really. Seems to me, we’re made for each other. All of us. One way or another. Like there isn’t a me without a you.”

“Don’t you want to be with Jared?”

Jensen didn’t answer right away. He curled himself into the corner of the couch, knees drawn up, wrists clasped in front of his shins. Movements like these Sam had come to recognise, and he prepared himself for the possibility of a breakdown. A fugue. A friend.

“I do, Sam,” he hedged. “But I never knew before this happened that there was any other way. I never had a choice. I still want him. The thing is, I am better here, aren’t I?”

“A little, yeah.”

“I really think—I’ve thought all along, but no one would listen to me—it was the drugs that were messing me up. And I am afraid,” he said, choosing his words carefully, eyes on his knees, “that if I go back, Jared will make me keep taking them. I’m afraid of losing this ability to think for myself. I know he loves me and he thinks he’s doing what’s right, but I never ever get a real say in it. Because I’m crazy.”

“Jensen, can I ask you something?” At his nod, Sam went on. “Where you always like this? Crazy, or whatever? The multiple personalities?”

“No. I don’t think so, anyway. I was fine as a kid. I mean, I think. I was a kid, you know? It wasn’t until I ended up in state care after Rob died that I started having problems.”

“That’s where you met Alastair, wasn’t it?”

Jensen’s eyes flickered, gold set with diamonds.

“Jen, tell me about it. Will you? _Can_ you?”

“Don’t wanna,” Jensen said, his voice high-pitched and childlike.

Sam scrambled for the name. “Joey?”

Jensen’s face was slack and he rolled his head around, bringing his right ear near his shoulder. He stuck three fingers in his mouth, his tongue playing between them.

“Joey, do you know Doctor Alastair?”

Jensen jerked his fingers out of his mouth and raspberried his tongue at Sam, then crammed them back in.

“Don’t like him, do you?”

“Nuh-uh. He’s a _dickhole_!” Jensen shriek-giggled, like a child saying something it knows it shouldn’t but will get away with just this once.

Sam nodded. “I think so, too. He was really mean to my brother. Was he mean to you?”

“Yesh,” Jensen slurred, chewing on his fingers.

“Wanna tell me about it?”

“It’s _gross_. He said not to.”

“He’s not here, though. He’s not gonna know, because he’s gone. For good. I don’t mind if it’s gross, okay?”

Jensen shrugged. His eyes wandered around the room, never once coming anywhere near Sam.

“How old are you, Joey?”

“Eight,” he supplied, holding out his right hand, fingers splayed. Sam guessed the other three were the ones in his mouth.

“Hey, you’re friends with Jensen, aren’t you? I heard you two play in the garden.”

“Yup. He’s _so_ _cool_.”

“Like a big brother, huh?”

“Yeah!”

“Does he know about Doctor Alastair, Joey?”

“No way. I never ever tell him.”

Sam was so out of his depth. He didn’t know what to say to that. It was obvious some kind of abuse had happened to Jensen, and that he created Joey to deal with it. Was it good that Jensen didn’t remember, or should he face it?

Sam closed his eyes.

“I could tell _you_ ,” Joey said, startling Sam.

“Okay, yeah,” he encouraged. “Jensen doesn’t need to know right now, does he? But it might be really important for me to know. Alastair said you had to keep it a secret, huh? You shouldn’t have to keep secrets, Joey. Kids don’t have to do that. Is that what he said?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, I’ll keep it for you, okay? And then you don’t have to, and Alastair couldn’t get mad at me even if he was here, ’cause I’m big and tough, huh?”

Jensen giggled, a conspiratorial little titter that he remembered so well, had heard Dean make many times when they were kids. “No way, you’d beat him up good!”

Jensen hooked a finger in his cheek, then glanced at Sam for the first time, but his burning eyes slid away quickly. He nodded to himself and wiped his fingers on his jeans, and started talking.

When the words ran out, Joey said goodbye to Sam, that it was getting late and it was time to go back home.

“Wait,” Sam said, “I thought you lived there? With Ellen.”

“Nah. Just stayed the night. We’re movin’. Say ‘later’ to Jensen for me?”

“I will.” He would not.

“Sam?” Jensen questioned, blinking slowly, his eyelids not wanting to stay open.

“Right here, Jensen. Just go to sleep, honey.”

Wrapped around Jensen’s unconscious body that night, Sam wept against his shoulder.

If he could kill Alastair all over again, he would. A million times.


	13. Chapter 13

**Dean**

 

He’d felt weird all morning. Anxious, sick to his stomach, fatigued. He crawled back into bed in the late afternoon and slept heavily, dreamless for once. When he woke up, it was instantaneous and without the usual confusion and longing for home, and he knew what he had to do.

He dressed in one of the outfits he had picked up with Charlie—a dark grey tee shirt made out of the softest material he had ever felt, and a loose-fitting pair of black trousers he’d turned his nose up at first.

“Don’t do yoga pants,” he’d scoffed, but Charlie had given him her serious face and he’d relented and tried them on. He wanted to wear them out of the store after that.

He pulled on a black shirt, left the buttons undone, and tried to recall pictures he’d seen of his dad when he’d first been married to Mary as he combed his hair over instead of spiking it like he normally did. It was a little longer now, and he could pull off the look. He brushed his teeth, avoiding looking at himself other than one quick glance. His lip was healed but for a small red scar that was easily disguised as a crease, and his bruises had long since disappeared. The splint had been removed two days ago, and he could finally tie his own damn shoes, but none of that was the reason he couldn’t face himself.

Barefoot, he went in search of Jared.

He found the man in the living room going over papers, an empty whisky glass on the table, a fire popping in the stove. Without speaking, Dean settled on the couch next to him. Close. Jared smiled at him and gestured with the papers. Dean nodded and leaned back, mustering.

Jared was still fighting the rut. He looked a little gaunt, Dean admitted to himself, even pale under his obligatory Texas tan. Alastair had made noises and given Jared medication to counteract the rut, but it didn’t seem to be doing much good. He was having trouble sleeping again, no matter how many pills he took, but Dean had been more accommodating, allowing the growling Alpha to grind against him in the darkness, encouraging him to share more stories of Jimmy and Jared together, the kinkier the better, would stroke Jared through his orgasms—

Jared stood, snapping Dean out of his thoughts. He made himself a drink and hunkered over the case for another twenty minutes before he seemed satisfied. The paperwork disappeared and he rose to get another whisky when Dean stopped him, slipping the glass out of his hand and going to the table to make it for him. He took a deep breath, breathed in Jared, steeled himself.

“Can I join you? One drink?”

“You shouldn’t, Jen.”

Dean put on his best pout, bit his lip, batted his eyelashes. _I can be charming for booze_ , he thought, and swirled the crystal decanter at Jared, the light playing through the liquid inside, casting a honied glow on the room.

Jared worried a canine with his tongue and scratched the back of his neck. “A little bit, okay?”

“Of course.” _Whatever it takes to get me through this._

He poured them both glasses, his neat, Jared’s with soda. When he turned, Jared was there, towering and solid and beautiful.

“Fuck,” Dean said.

Jared’s eyes were fever-bright. Dean had to tilt his head back to see them. Had to see them.

“I love you so much, Jen.”

Dean wet his lips, tried to look away. “I promise I’ll be good tonight,” he said, voice strangled by his heart.

“You’re always good. I always love you, no matter what.”

“Uh. Guess I can be a handful sometimes.”

Jared’s mouth quirked down, agreeing, but he darted down to Dean’s face and kissed his lips, just once. “In one way or another.”

Dean blushed. There was no room between them, so he pressed the icy glass against Jared’s arm to distract him, but he had to take Jared’s wrist and tug to get him to move back to the couch. Dean needed to sit, and tossed back half his drink when he had. The stove crackled.

“Little odd seeing you out of flannel after so long. You look amazing, though. Why the change?”

“Just didn’t feel like me anymore.” _I can’t be Dean and do this._

“Jen, tell me about this last one?”

“One what?”

“This Dean.”

Dean nearly dropped his glass.

“Please? I mean, I’m sorry. You don’t have to. Alastair said I shouldn’t ask about them, I just—it seemed so real to you this time, especially.”

“N-no. I mean, yeah. Okay. If you want.” _Talk about him like he’s not you. It will help._

“Does he have, like, a backstory? He seemed angry. Aggressive. Was there more to him?”

“He’s, uh, loyal. More than anything.”

“To his brother?”

 _Sam_. “Yeah. Supposed to watch out for him. Dean wants to be useful. He felt really helpless when he was a kid and he’s wanted to make up for it ever since.”

“Sounds tragic.”

He shot a glance at Jared to see if he was being made fun of, but no, nothing but sincerity on his face. “I guess so.”

“Is his brother all the family he’s got?”

“Yeah.”

“Kinda like me and you.”

“Exactly.”

“Seems like he missed him pretty bad. Kept asking for him, calling me, what was it? Sam?”

Hearing it from those lips, with that voice, crushed him. It was as if he’d been holding onto a tiny sliver of hope that this was all a dream, that this man with Sam’s voice would suddenly _be_ Sam, say he was Sam, and now, knowing he barely remembered the name, Dean knew he was lost forever. They both were. His face heated to boiling and the tears were instantaneous, unstoppable.

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have reminded you. It just seemed so important. It’s dumb, I’m sorry. I just want to understand you, Jen! That’s not dumb, I don’t mean _that_.”

Dean squeezed his eyes shut against his tears and went to wipe them away, but Jared was there first. He caught Dean’s fingers with one hand and the other brushed his cheek, knuckles softly dragging through the wet. Dean leaned into his touch. He knew about doing the best you could, he understood about intention. There was no reason to make this man think what was going to happen was his fault. He owed him that much.

How would he want someone to treat Sam?

He slid a kiss across Jared’s hand. “You know what? Forget it. Forget them. I’m here now. I’m _Jensen_ now.”

The glass was snatched out of his hand. Jared aimed it at the table, missed. Dean heard it clunk on the floor and roll away somewhere. Hands on hips, Jared pulled Dean under him, hard already, desperate and strong and it was easy now, effortless to submit to him. Not being Dean anymore gave him permission. Jensen would do this, Jensen would give in, give up, give to Jared. His mate, his Alpha. Whatever it took to survive, to make it back, to be home—he shut his mind down. _Now_. This was home _now_.

It was tricky being kissed so hard, so deep, by someone with fangs, but Dean figured it out. It was easier if he coaxed Jared’s impossibly wide, long tongue into his mouth, where he could suck at it, slide his own around it, until Jared moaned, shuddered, pulled away for a moment only to let it happen again. Dean kissed him until he couldn’t breathe, his eyes watering, his lips bruised, and he had to pull Jared off him by the hair.

Jared growled, tried to shake him loose, but Dean wouldn’t let go. Needed him to fight. He was trying, doing his best, but it would be easier if Jared took what he wanted. Jared needed very little encouragement. His hand clamped down on Dean’s throat and squeezed. His body spasmed, arched against Jared’s, an invitation he couldn’t give with his voice. He was wet. He could feel it tickling, strange, uncomfortable, and the last thing he wanted was evidence of it on the couch.

“Bed,” he gurgled past Jared’s hand.

He was jerked to his feet, the hand on his neck twisting around to his nape and now he understood why Jared had often touched him there—he went limp, barely able to keep upright. Docile and willing, he let Jared direct him to their room, his mind calm and quiet. He was stripped, and had only a moment of embarrassment when his sticky underwear was dragged from his body, but Jared’s murmur of approval lessened the feeling.

Jared shoved his hand between Dean’s legs, fingers dipping into the slick, pushing further inside Dean’s body than he thought he wanted, but it felt good. And when Jared’s hand drew back, caught his cock, and twisted around, palm soaked and slippery, Dean wanted to come. But in the back of his mind he knew he couldn’t. Not anymore. Not from that alone. He was glad Jared didn’t stop to ask him if he was sure, if he was okay, if he wanted this. He wouldn’t have been able to answer, neither and both being the truth. It was simply that he had to. Whatever it took.

Jared pushed Dean onto his back on the bed, shoved his legs open with one knee. Kissed his lips again, then smeared his mouth down Dean’s body. He sucked and licked and nipped, bruising and biting, leaving marks that made Dean squirm as they were made, and he was already excited about seeing them on his body later. He winced when Jared found his nipples. They were tender, but so stiff, and Jared’s hot, slippery tongue teased them until Dean was clutching at the sheets to keep from pushing him away. When Jared did move lower, Dean wanted to drag him back to them.

Sharp canines dug into Dean’s ribs. Jared opened his mouth wide as if to devour him whole. Dean worried briefly about those fangs when he felt Jared’s lips on his cock, but he had to trust. He’d had blowjobs from men before and knew there was something different about them, a sort of detachment, an efficiency that girls usually didn’t have. But this, this was better than anything he’d ever felt from any sex: devotion bordering on worship. Jared lavished his cock with kisses and caresses before he ever took Dean in his mouth, and when he did, Dean whimpered in disbelief. With anyone else, he’d be mumbling a warning, gripping himself tight to stop what was happening or throwing his head back to relish it, but there was nothing he could do here.

Jared was relentless. He swallowed Dean to the root, tongue out and over his balls, hands pushing Dean’s legs wide, pulling off only to dip down between his legs, against his asshole, lapping at the moisture there before returning to his cock, a maddening rotation that had Dean up on his elbows, watching in awe. Jared noticed him eventually, grinned when he saw Dean’s open mouth, his glazed eyes, and then Dean tasted his own slick for the first time as Jared kissed him again. It was sweet, but hot somehow, like chili pepper in honey, and it numbed his lips.

“Jen, baby,” Jared rasped. “I fuckin’ missed you. I need you so much. Wanna fuck you. Let me, will you? Fuckin’ _need_ you.”

The evidence of that need was hard, hot, insistent, pressed against Dean’s thighs. Fear wasped into his brain. The pictures, the memory of that solid force splitting his lip open, of nearly drowning, the endless flood that was Jared’s orgasm.

Jared felt him shiver, saw Dean’s mismatched eyes widen, and he lifted himself a little, easing his weight off. “I’ll be gentle, I promise. Jensen, I won’t hurt you. I won’t knot if it isn’t what you want. I can stop. We’ll go slow.”

Dean couldn’t answer, couldn’t make his throat work, but he nodded, once, and closed his eyes.

“No, stay with me. I need to know you’re okay.”

Jared’s face was in shadow, obscured by his long hair, and Dean reached up and tucked a bit of it behind Jared’s ear, needing to see _him_ to keep the confusion at bay. Jared smiled at the gesture, nuzzled his hand, then rolled them onto their sides. Dean frowned but Jared smiled at him again, kissed his lips as he eased Dean’s leg over his hip and wiggled in closer. He lifted and gently pushed Dean’s body into a curve, moved his bottom leg under his waist and then his long fingers were back, dipping, teasing, sliding over and into Dean, and it was almost soothing being touched like that. Dean found his eyes closing, his breathing slowing, and he rested his brow against Jared’s, not quite noticing when the thick head of Jared’s cock replaced his fingers.

The push inside snapped him back to attention, but it was too late now. Jared, for all his gentle words, was not going to be denied. A hand on Dean’s hip, the other back behind his neck, Jared moved into him powerfully, one long thrust and there was nothing Dean could do. He opened his mouth to cry out, but Jared was there, too, covering his mouth with his own, swallowing the scream.

His body adjusted where his mind had not quite. Jared filled him, pressing into him until he was buried, but it didn’t hurt. It was _exquisite_. Pleasure flooded Dean and he bucked instinctively, wanting to feel the heaviness, the solid heat, and Jared laughed, nipping at his lips.

“Fuckin’ beautiful, Jen. Love it, don’t you? Missed your Alpha’s big cock, huh, baby?”

“Yes,” Dean hissed, knowing it had to be true. He rolled his hips, wanting more, needing more, but Jared had him trapped.

He seemed to enjoy Dean’s desperation. He teased Dean with kisses and light slaps to his ass, gripped his throat to still him when he thrashed, frustrated. He gave no instruction, just let Dean work himself into a panting mess, clutching at Jared’s hips, sucking at his tongue, the slight push and pull of the cock in his ass almost unbearable.

“ _Please_!”

Jared laughed again. “That’s my boy. Fucking begging for it.”

The noises that left Dean’s throat at that were unrecognisable to him; nothing had ever been so urgent, so wanted, he’d never felt so desperate, like he was going to break apart and Jared was the only thing that could save him, hold him together. When Jared rolled him onto his back, covered him with his body and pulled out before slamming back into him, Dean nearly wept with relief. His fingers tangled in Jared’s hair but he couldn’t pull him down. Instead he lifted himself up, whimpering even as he sucked at Jared’s tongue.

Jared shook him off after a moment, a little warning snap of his teeth making Dean fall back. He pinned Dean’s wrists, moving slowly, purposefully, keeping just out reach, using his body’s weight to keep Dean trapped, at his mercy, and Dean felt like a bow drawn to the breaking point. His body literally creaked beneath Jared’s, straining for more, harder, faster, deeper, but Jared kept up the maddening pace, slamming each thrust into Dean.

All at once, Dean had no control. He managed to twist free and his nails drew blood on Jared’s neck and chest as he fought. As if to get away. He didn’t want to; he wanted to hurt, be hurt, feel pain, pleasure, blood, kisses, he needed to be owned and to have command over himself, whoever he was. He just _wanted_.

Jared snarled and corralled his wrists again, gripped them in one hand, forced them over Dean’s head. His other slapped Dean’s face, wrapped around his throat, wrenched his head to one side. Dean expected the bite to hurt, but it didn’t. He did not think it would turn him on, that it was possible to be turned on any more than he already was, but that’s exactly what happened. Jared’s canines sunk deep, and for Dean it was like being touched by a live wire; like dying. His vision blurred, he arched, and from the very centre of his self a calmness began to radiate, to grow, overwhelming him, and he went under, gladly.

Jared released his hands and Dean just let them drop to the bed, unable to control his own body. He could only feel Jared’s mouth at his neck, sucking a mark into his flesh, sucking blood from the bite. His sharp, long teeth moving in his skin, a tiny mimicry of the thick cock swelling inside him. When Jared finally drew his head back and whispered a command in Dean’s ear, his breath scorching and caramel-apple sweet with his mate’s blood, Dean did as he asked.

“Jared,” he breathed, able to see again, seeing only him. “ _Alpha_ ,” he said, then again, again, louder, until it was a poem, praise, prayer.

Jared smiled, lips soft against Dean’s pierced flesh and he flipped them effortlessly, helped the plaint omega arrange himself on his knees. Then he let go, letting Dean find out for himself they were locked together. The first snap of Dean’s hips was enough. He moved experimentally, grinding down first, and the explosion of pleasure as Jared’s knot pressed against his prostate made him gasp, made his body jump of its own accord and that’s when he panicked. He whimpered, pulled, and Jared hissed at him, hands grabbing Dean’s hips, securing him. Dean fought, but there was nowhere he could go, no way he was pulling off the thick knot buried in him and—it felt good. The pressure was making his cock leap and drool with every movement and they were both soaked with slick and Dean was on the verge of an orgasm for longer than was good for his sanity.

He gave up, let Jared stroke him, murmur soothingly. Let himself be coaxed forward and kissed again, and the stretch where their bodies were one was intoxicating, delicious and strange and wonderful. Dean rocked back and forth, every other movement milking him, making his cock weep, and Jared let him have his way, let him ride as slow as he wanted, push as hard as he could, until he became frantic again, clawing and clutching, frustrated. He let out a little groan when Jared’s arms wrapped around him, pinning him down, afraid and helpless and wanting. Jared spread his legs, lifted his knees and began to fuck his omega in earnest, mouth open, fangs bared and he twisted Dean’s head up, forcing eye contact.

“ _Mine_ ,” Jared growled.

Dean could only nod.

“Not letting you go, ever. Anything for you, forever. Understand?”

“Yes, Alpha.”

“Love you.”

“I love you.” He did. There was no other way.

“Gonna come, beautiful. Fill you up. Want you full of me.”

Dean closed his eyes, terrified, but Jared didn’t correct him, intent on his orgasm. Jared’s knot was huge. Stone-like, heavy inside him, and perfect. He wanted it there, wanted this surrender, and that thought made him come, his cock trapped between their bodies, and Jared rumbled approval, his own orgasm hitting seconds later. Jared’s come flooded into him, hot, so much of it. His guts cramped slightly and he moaned. Jared’s hips were moving in sporadic circles, stuttering up, bouncing Dean and he thought of one of those wave in a box machines that were nowhere near as cool as a lava lamp. That’s what he felt like, Jared’s come sloshing inside of him.

“Perfect, so good, Jen, love you so much,” Jared was muttering, lips brushing over Dean’s eyes, his cheeks, big hands everywhere, sliding through sweat and slick, caressing and squeezing.

Dean had never been one to nod off after sex. Usually, he was already planning his escape before he’d even ditched the condom, but he could hardly keep his eyes open now.

Jared seemed to expect it. “Shhh, beautiful, I got you. Safe. You’re mine, just relax.”

“No, wanna get up,” Dean protested weakly.

Laughter. “Can’t.” Jared thrust again. Dean twitched, sensitive inside and out. “You’re not going anywhere for awhile.”

Worse, or better, or debilitatingly, depending on the moment, the constant rub and grind inside of him had Dean hard again in record time. Half-asleep and desperate, he found himself rutting against Jared’s body, and it was almost painful when came again. Somehow, he ended back underneath Jared, legs curled between their chests, the Alpha fucking him like he hated him. Another flood from the huge cock and Dean was pleading, mortified that it was for more. With a careful twist of their bodies, Dean’s taking the worst of it, Jared was behind him, his hand pressing deep into Dean’s belly, low.

“Can feel it, baby. You’re so full, so much of my come in you. My cock’s deep, feel that?” Jared fingers pushed so hard it hurt.

Dean whimpered.

“Can almost grab it inside you! _Fuck_.”

Dean lost track of everything after that. Hours might have gone by. He came again, maybe again, Jared pouring inside of him until Dean was full and spilling it out. In the end, he fought Jared, overstimulated, almost in shock. Shaking, teeth chattering, he began to cry and struggle, screamed, and Jared finally relented, curling up behind him, still knotted to him. He let Dean bite absently at his fingers as he trembled and wept, soothed him when he dropped off to sleep like falling into an abyss, caught him up tight when he jerked awake halfway down, but finally Dean felt calm again, his heart no longer a wild animal desperate to escape. Jared kissed the back of his neck, kissed the bite he’d given Dean, and slowly his knot went down. Dean tried to be patient, but as soon as he felt Jared let go of him, he pulled away. It hurt. No, he just felt empty. He felt raw, but not sore. Naked, inside and out, as if Jared were a second skin now.

He slipped out of bed and away on watery legs, and had the shower going without ever turning the lights on. He lay down in the bottom of it. By the time Jared joined him, Dean felt reasonably sane again, and confident his body wasn’t going to rebel in one way or another. Jared looked terribly pleased with himself and Dean couldn’t help grinning back at him, or blushing. He washed Jared, cleaning him of the slick and come and sweat, the best way he could think to distract himself from what he didn’t want to remember. Not what they had done, or would do again, but from why. From when and where. He concentrated on taking care of Jared because that’s what Jensen would do and that’s who he needed to be now. For now.

It worked. Jared’s rut faded slowly. Dean thought that actually sleeping helped as much as sex, and Jared finally stopped taking the pills.

As the months progressed, Dean slipped into the omega role with an ease he refused to acknowledge. He kept focused as much as he could on not being Dean. He went out of his way to appease Jared, to be charming and welcoming, to be affectionate. That he started looking forward to the Alpha’s arrival every day, got hard thinking about their nights together, well, that was what Jensen would do. Dean was in the background, waiting. He couldn’t be them both, and the medication Jared still insisted he take every day was what kept Dean from finding the answers, finding his way home. Dean was thinking about those things, or would be able to once Jensen proved he didn’t need to walk around in a daze anymore, that he wasn’t going to slip again, that he was sane and content and not someone else.

He broached the subject carefully, maneuvering the conversation so that it was Jared saying how well he was doing, how different he seemed. Dean told him it was because he’d always been afraid Jared was going to leave him, the stress of that made him act out, make up things, try to protect himself from what he thought was inevitable. He knew better now. But he was so tired. He wished he could not have to sleep as much, wished he could be more energetic. Jared suggested backing off some of the medications, taking others just every other day, and then, ‘We’ll see, okay, honey?’

It was a couple of weeks before the winter holidays. Not Christmas, but they had their own version of it. Dean had been off the antipsychotics for a few weeks, and he and Charlie were on their way to the mall. Jared let Dean drive, which was terribly dull, but was still one new piece of freedom and trust granted him. He couldn’t help being frustrated at the lack of speed, at the bathetic way the traffic moved, and he grumbled accordingly.

“What’s your ish, Jen?”

“This is nowhere near as fun as driving where I’m from.”

Charlie bit her lip. “Not talking about Kansas, are we?”

“Oh, sort of, just not _this_ Kansas. I wish I could get you to believe me.”

“Well, I want to,” she said, almost as a question. “Why do I feel like I’m being baited?”

Dean grinned at her. Clever lady, this Charlie. “You kind of are. I’ve been planning something, but I need your help. Or, I think I do. I just really need someone to believe me. I’m kind of slipping, even without all the damn medication.”

“Jared let you quit taking it?”

Dean sighed. “Most of it. The split personality shit and the anxiety ones. Eyes are still getting darker, though, you know what I mean?”

“Yeah, I was gonna mention you smell different. It’s nice.”

Dean chewed his cheek, stopping himself from saying something sarcastic. Charlie was just trying to be supportive. He drummed on the steering wheel for a moment.

He had to try.

“Charlie, what if I could prove to you that Alastair’s been fucking with me? Maybe even you, too. Would it help you believe the things I’ve said?”

“Sure, Jen,” she said cautiously. “You’re not going to do anything that’ll get you in trouble, are you?”

“Nah,” he promised, probably lying. “But listen, and you might not like this at all, but I swear I’m telling you the truth. Alastair knows who I am. I mean who I really am. That I’m not Jensen. He told me so, Charlie!” he insisted when she opened her mouth to dissuade him. “He called me Dean.”

“Maybe he’s just joking with you. Jared told him who—”

“Alastair told me he’s not your real Alpha.”

“Pull the fucking car over, Jensen.”

“Charlie—”

“Just do it. I’m not going to get out, I just need you to look me in the eye and say that, okay? That’s an in charge accusation you just made, get it?”

He pulled up to a curb and turned to face the now-seething omega. She jabbed a finger in his chest. “Jensen, you’ve been a best pal for most of my life, but you’ve always been a little, uh, imaginative. I’ve hung tough with you, ’cause you’re a giant sweetheart and like the brother I never wanted. But you can’t go around saying shit like that, ’kay?”

“I am not lying to you, Charlie. I promise.”

“Just for the fun of it let me ask—why would he tell you that in the first place?”

“Because he’s a pompous asshole.”

She blurted laughter. “Dammit, Jenny. That’s too easy. Seriously, why?”

“Isn’t it obvious? He knows no one will believe me! I’m the crazy guy, remember? No one listens to the crazy guy. It’s just another way to torment me as far as he’s concerned. I’m the perfect victim for him. I can prove it to you, though.”

“How? How you gonna do that?”

“I know where she is.”

“She who?”

“Your Alpha, Charlie. She’s in a coma, Alastair told me. I think he’s probably helping keep her in one. I’m going to find her and get something of hers and you’ll know, won’t you? Scent alone, right?”

“Jensen—”

“Charlie, my name is Dean, and you’ll see that I’m right. I can—”

“Just stop. I’m not mad, Jen. Dean. Whoever. I just need a minute, okay?”

“Yeah. No problem. Do you still wanna go?”

“Shopping. Yes. Please.”

He left her to her thoughts for the rest of the drive. That she wasn’t mad at him she proved by taking his arm and smiling up at him as they strolled around the mall, but he knew her gears were going. He caught her looking at him with a curious expression several times and he winked at her. She stuck her tongue out at him and he knew he had her hooked. Not reeled in, but she wasn’t fighting as hard. She also didn’t buy anything for her Alpha.

Dean picked up presents for Jared, shopping for Sam in his head. A leather journal with interesting symbols on it he’d look up later, an extra cord for the computer because Jared was forever having to recharge it when he was in the middle of something and using it in the living room, and a set of soft handkerchiefs that just happened to match the changing colours of Jared’s eyes. When she wasn’t looking, he bought Charlie a gift card in the store she always wanted to go into first, and they milled around after that, window shopping, stopping to get something to eat before heading back to the car. Charlie had been her playful self, only severely dialed down.

She hadn’t called him Jensen once.

In front of her house, she reached for the door handle, then paused. Without looking at him, she quietly said, “I don’t want to go in there. I never really do. It’s not home. Somehow, it’s never ever felt like it. I feel more at home with you than I do with him. I feel more at home looking at urine samples than I do with him.”

“Then do something for me, Charlie. Check the medication he’s been giving me.”

“For what?”

“You’d know better than I would. Check what’s in Jared’s, too. I know you’ll find something that’s not supposed to be there. Hell, check your own while you’re at it.”

“Hell?”

“See. Talking about Alastair makes me think of Hell. It’s a very bad place where I’m from.”

“I can’t check your meds, or Jared’s. He always makes ’em special. Small doses.”

Dean reached over and plucked her wallet out of her pocket.

“Hey!”

“Call me in about an hour and I’ll bring it back. There’ll be a little something extra in it.”

“Now we’re doing something that’s gonna get _me_ in trouble!”

“Don’t get caught, sunshine.”

“If I do this, and there’s nothing there, are you gonna let it drop?”

“No way.” Dean grinned at her. “I am what I am, sister. Won’t matter anyway, because I’m gonna fix all this. You’ll see. Charlie?”

She surprised him. “Yeah, _Dean_?”

“I adore you.”

“I know you do.”

“Call me.”

She did, moments after Jared came home, which was seconds after Dean had swiped one of his sleeping pills and tucked it into her wallet along side a little sealable baggie with a drop of his antipsychotic in it. Jared offered to drive him, just wanted a moment to change out of his suit, so Dean was able to add another baggy with the hormone injection serum to the collection, tucked the gift card in front of the bags, then smiled brightly at Jared and let him drive them back to Charlie’s to return her ‘forgotten’ wallet. She met them at the curb, leaned in the window to peck Dean on the cheek, thanked Jared profusely for driving over, apologised for being a space cadet (a very real thing in this world, Dean knew) and spared them having to see Alastair by darting back into the house just as the door opened from the inside.

That night, he did research. When he called the Kansas City Memorial Hospital’s Coma Center the next day, he summoned up his best Sam voice and started asking questions. One Dorothy Baum was indeed in the Center, matching the name of a patient Dean had been able to find taking an experimental drug manufactured by the pharmaceutical company that funded most of Alastair’s research. Her family had left her in the care of the Center after being paid a substantial fund for her to be treated as the Clinic saw fit, and they had seen fit to use her as a human trial patient for a drug that was supposed to keep head trauma patients from having seizures. Kept their brain activity low.

“Seems strange,” the woman on the phone offered up, Dean having first asked her how she was, how long she’d worked there, did she like it, did it afford her time with her brand new grandbabies since their no-good father had vamoosed and left her poor daughter working three jobs, and oughtn't there to be laws in the books for Alphas to pay support to their pups? All these laws regulating omegas rights and wrongs, but Alphas just got to do as they please. “Dot didn’t have seizures, at least on my watch.”

“Did she have any personal affects, something her parents hadn’t claimed?” Dean wanted to know. “It’s for a photography project documenting coma patients being looked after by the system.”

“Oh, sure. There’s a couple pieces of jewelry she had on, some hair pins. Her shoes—”

“Shoes. Shoes are good, we, um, don’t have any shoes. Would be a nice addition. I’ll send them back, of course.”

“Well, sure, son. I’ll get them out to you. Cute little red slip-ons, if I recall. Think it’s real fine what you’re doing, memorialising these folks. No one bothers with them, you know?”

Dean sure did. And he offered to pay shipping, but the woman, Val, said no, no, it was no bother. She’d just send them out with the hospital’s mail. Dean gave her the address of a post office box he had rented on the last trip to the mall after noticing it was near the restroom. Gave him an excuse to head over to it while Charlie was browsing. And could Val be a doll and express it? They were editing the journal soon, and he wanted to include Dot’s slip-ons. Not a problem. They’d be there, oh, tomorrow morning.

Charlie called Dean exactly three minutes after Jared left for work two days later.

“This isn’t fucking funny anymore, Jensen. Dean. Whoever the hell.”

“You got something, didn’t you? Found something that wasn’t supposed to be there. Was it just in mine?”

“I wish! Mine, too, and Jared’s. Fucking rut hormone in his sleeping pills. That’s fucking dangerous! I mean, heats hurt, but they’re not lethal. Dosing an Alpha with _that much_ rut can cause a stroke, a fucking heart attack! Speaking of heat, guess who has been on suppressants? That’s right, me. I’ve been so _stupid_. And Jenny, I’m sorry, so sorry. No wonder you’re a mess, and I mean that in the best way, you’re a lovely mess, pet, but seriously, he’s got you all over the place! I took one look at what was in your meds and lock-picked his cabinet— _like a boss_ , I might add—and, and I don’t even know where to start! What he was giving you was making you bonkers!”

“I fuckin’ knew it. Charlie, you’re my queen. I owe you big time.”

“What do we _do_ , though? Shouldn’t we turn him in?”

“We could,” Dean said. “I have a better idea, though.” _Saving people. Hunting things._

Charlie didn’t seem to hear the threat in his voice. “Jens, the only good news is I can’t find anything in your hormones that’s out of the ordinary. They’re doing what they’re meant to.”

_Oh, hooray._

“But you flush those fucking pills of Jared’s down the toilet, your meds, too. I’ll—I’ll call and leave a message for Jared that yours expired or something, got word his was a faulty batch. Okay? Just don’t let Jared take any more, especially.”

“Thanks. Hey, Charlie. You know how I owe you one?”

He gave her the combination to the post office box and told her to open what was in it there at the office, not to bring it home.


	14. Chapter 14

**Sam**

 

Ellen woke him up.

“Well, hello, _nurse_!” Jensen said, already sitting up. He winked at Sam, then looked at a watch he didn’t have on.

“Mmph. Ellen? Is Jensen okay?” Sam rubbed his eyes, which were sore and crusted from tears.

“Oh, yeah, sure. Helping me pack, actually, but I needed a smoke break.”

Flabbergasted, Sam watched Jensen search around next to the bed and pull out a half-full pack of cigarettes.

“Where did those come from?”

“I _told_ you to keep an eye on him, didn’t I? That little cutter friend of his, Rhonda? Fucking klepto! I found ’em, confiscated ’em.” She lit the cigarette, holding it like a joint. “She’s being a pain, the only one left in here. Late to the party, last to leave. Other’n me, anyway. Jensen doesn’t want me to go, but I promised him I’d visit occasionally.”

“Oh, um, okay…”

“Not asking you to put out the fine china. Ass.”

“Sorry. Uh, why… How, um, what do you _do_ for Jensen, anyway? Why doesn’t he want you to leave?”

“Listen, when a baby loses its mama and decides to hang on to your apron strings, you gonna tell it to fuck off? Nope, son, I let him hang around the house as long as he needs to. Thing is, he don’t need to anymore. He’s got a home. With you.”

“He hasn’t said that.”

“He was gettin’ to it. If you want him around, you gotta be real patient. Listen to him. Let him work through his bullshit and fears and all that. No one’s ever done that, ’cept me. He always had me to talk to. Now he’s got you.”

“Ellen, you said something was Alastair’s fault before. What is?”

She gave him long look and took a deep drag off the smoke, then pointed it at Sam. “Joey talked to you, right?”

Sam swallowed, instantly nauseated. He nodded.

“Then you know, dontcha? But here’s somethin’, Sam. Demolition crew is comin’ soon. Takin’ the house down. The house Alastair built. I been noticin’ pipes leakin’, the garden’s all a-wilt, dang, even the sky outside is sort of dissolving. Not a bad thing, by my way of knowin’. Whatever’s been the foundation is weak now. Fadin’ away. Me, that hoodrat Rhonda, we might be back sometimes, but we won’t be _stayin’_ here no more. Just passin’ through, like I said.”

He didn’t know what to say. In a way, he was glad Ellen wouldn’t offer up any more information about Alastair. He had enough for two lifetimes, and he was certain that Jensen’s personalities were mostly due to his abuse as a child at Alastair’s hands. Ellen seemed to be an exception, someone Jensen had created to make up for his lost mother, but she’d probably grown as a character through the same later abuse. Whether or not Jensen would ever remember all the details himself, Sam couldn’t guess. He sort of hoped not. And now Ellen had told him where Jensen had gotten the scars on his body from—this Rhonda. Hadn’t Dean known a Rhonda? Whatever. Jensen’s scars were Dean’s scars. Silent, they could stand as if looking in a mirror and the roadmap of pain on their skin would be the same.

With Jensen’s eyes, Ellen was watching him. She nodded to herself and smiled. “You just keep workin’ it out, big boy.”

“Hey!” Sam yelped as she flicked the cigarette across the room and Jensen’s body turned, as if Ellen was walking away, back towards the crumbling house inside Jensen’s head. Sam scrambled to find the cigarette before it caught fire in a pile of clothes, so he wasn’t able to catch Jensen when he fell back, still asleep, but luckily the kid landed sideways across the mattress. Sam doused the butt in a beer bottle and crawled back over to the bed.

Jensen looked so peaceful. Sam decided right then that he would do everything in his power to help him stay that way.

There was one week until the lunar eclipse. One week before Sam could get Dean back. One week left to find out if Jensen would leave him.

It didn’t take the full week.

Jensen slept. Heavily, without moving, for so long that Sam eventually woke him up. That the omega was having some kind of trouble Sam could tell right away, so he didn’t push him to talk or do anything more than drink water. He chugged most of a quart jar, set it carefully down, then his eyes rolled back, lids fluttering, and he brought his right hand to his face, using the first two fingers to tap against the bridge of his nose lightly, repetitively. His face was expressionless, his mouth slightly open and his breathing short and shallow. When Sam touched him, he flinched like he’d been shocked and his hands shot out, fingers wide and splayed so hard they were bending back a little. Sam withdrew, sitting on the floor a few feet away from him, and waited. After a minute or so, Jensen curled back up and the tapping continued.

Eventually, afraid Jensen was going to hurt himself with the persistent nail-on-skin motion, Sam said loudly, “Jensen. Lie down.”

Jensen flinched again, but he immediately rolled onto his side and pressed his hands to his ears. His head was twitching slightly, his eyes still flicking around under his half-closed lids, but Sam was more confident he wasn’t going to damage himself like this.

He got up after a while, Jensen’s movements having slowed to almost nothing. Sam left the light on in the room and the door open, both things he’d learned the hard way to do for Jensen, and tried to call Bobby.

“Jesus, Sam, get the kid some B12 already, lots of it. I got some zinc and calcium in the cupboard, or somewhere, I don’t know, you look for it. Just don’t look too hard, might find something you don’t wanna.”

“B12?”

“Oh, and folate. It’s good for the noggin.”

“And you know this..?”

“Because it’s good for the noggin. Do I gotta spell it out for you? Where’s my crayon when I need it. Look, Sam, bein’ a hunter ’n’ scrapper ain’t afforded me good health insurance. Gotta take care of myself, you know?”

“Okay, Bobby, thanks, I’ll do that. Thanks, man.”

“Whatever. You got him all packed and ready to go?”

“I dunno. That he wants to go. We haven’t talked about it yet.”

“What? What the hell you been—whatever. Sam. Just get your damn brother home, okay?”

“Working on it. Got Dean’s piece of silver, Cas has the fairy connection to get it to him, we have the ingredients for the binding and the pathwork, so we’re as ready as we’re gonna be.”

“Great. Balls, Garth is here. Gotta go. Be. Careful.”

“You too.”

Sam found himself back in Jensen’s room. Their room. He flicked the light off and shucked his clothes. Bouncing the mattress lightly to let Jensen know he was going to get close, he slowly maneuvered himself towards Jensen’s body. Sam had also learned not to get too close to Jensen when he was sleeping, when he’d had a fugue, or he would wake up screaming if Sam moved too fast. Now he understood why.

Sam didn’t speak. That was just as bad, usually, as if his voice somehow translated into a hiss that sent Jensen into a panic. So he just went slow, letting his weight rock Jensen’s body, shifting around until he felt Jensen stir, until he saw the shimmer of those amazing eyes in the gloom.

“Hey.”

“Mm. Hi, Sam.”

“You okay?”

“I don’t know. Am I?”

“I think so. Been sleeping a lot.”

“Sam, I don’t want to go back.”

“I don’t want you to go back, either.”

“I love Jared, but I just can’t. All I ever wanted to do was be happy. I know that sounds stupid, but I’m easy to please. You’ve noticed, I think? Fuck me, feed me, let me sleep, give me something to do, don’t mind if I trip off sometimes. I’ve never _hurt_ anyone! But everyone’s hurt me. I know Jared thinks he’s doing the right thing. I _know_ he loves me! But I can’t, I just—I know this doesn’t make any sense, Sam.”

“Yes, it does.”

“You love me.”

“Yeah, Jensen, I do.”

“I’m happy. Maybe it’s the air here.” He tried to laugh but it came out a sob.

Sam let him roll onto his back and put his hand over Jensen’s heart when he settled again.

“Maybe it’s not being on so much fucking medication. Maybe it’s you, or everything, or something else, but I feel like I’m finally happy. Never been this way in my life before now. I know not going back is going to hurt Jared, and you—you can understand, can’t you?”

Sam thought of Stanford. Remembered how he’d been _sure_ he was happy there. Then his brother had walked in his door, had wrestled him to the ground, and he didn’t have to be sure. He just was. The difference was night and day. He’d never once been able to think about what would have happened if Jess hadn’t died, but he knew it now. Knew he’d have hurt Jess eventually, knew that he needed to be with Dean.

“Do you love me like this?” asked Jensen.

“Like this? Crazy? Yeah.”

“I am, aren’t I? I’m not. I mean, I am, but it doesn’t feel bad. Not anymore. Not since you. Jared won’t believe me. Won’t let me. I’ve begged him before, not to take me back to—to Alastair, oh, oh, Sam.”

The little sob became a wail. Became a cry. Was bitten off into a terrible growling noise of pain, and Sam closed his eyes and prayed. _God, don’t let him remember. Don’t let him hurt. He’s been so strong. God, bring Dean home. Keep him safe, and bring him home._

Jensen’s whole body shook once, trembled with bone shattering power and he arched under Sam’s hand. Panted a little, gasped, and started talking again, fast, his jaw clenched.

“I know this is going to hurt him and it fucking hurts bad knowing that, but I _can’t._ I can’t go back into that life. I’m fucking _ashamed_ that I don’t want to, that I want to get away from it, but it’s just not an option. Nothing will change. I kept believing it would, but I can’t anymore. I don’t have it in me to try. The only thing that makes this possible is that Jared doesn’t exist in this world. I can’t _feel_ him. I could have gone across the planet and I’d still know he was alive, waiting for me. I’ve heard people say it’s like missing a limb, like missing half of themselves, being separated from their mate. But I don’t feel that. Isn’t that _terrible_?”

“Oh, honey. I’m sorry.”

“Sam, I _want_ to feel it! I want that pain! It’s not fucking fair! _What the fuck is wrong with me_?” he screamed, and his fists came up and slammed into his temples.

“Jen, no!”

Sam tried to stop him but Jensen was so strong. Wild in his pain, his fists beat against his own head over and over, lightening fast and destructive. Sam fought him, yelling and then pleading with him to quit, and he only won when he shoved himself bodily onto Jensen, wrapped his arms around Jensen’s neck, put himself in the way. The grieving omega screamed again, the noise piercing and full of hatred.

“Baby, don't. Please, Jensen, don't hurt yourself,” Sam crooned to him. “You’re not bad.”

“I’m fucking broken. So broken, so fucked up, Sam. I’m sorry I’m here, I’m sorry you have to deal with me. I can leave. I can kill myself—”

“Please don’t, Jen. Don’t do that to me. Don’t leave me alone. Even if Dean comes back, I want you.”

Jensen wailed, fighting, but somehow Sam kept ahold of him.

“I fucking ruined you, too!” Jensen shrieked. “Poison, I’m poison! Fuck up everything I get near. Just a burden, make everything a disaster. Let me _go_ , Sam."

“You’re my disaster. I’m good with disasters. Wait ’til you meet Dean, you’ll believe me. But I want you to be _mine_ , please? I don’t own you, I can’t claim you the way Jared did, but I do want you."

“What if, what if…I don’t go back that somehow that means _he_ can’t, either? If that were true, would you _make me_?"

“Dammit, Jensen.”

“Oh, you would. _You would_!”

Sam couldn’t lie to him. “But Cas says that isn’t the case. We don’t have to worry. I can get Dean here without you having to do anything.”

“I don’t hold it against you, Sam,” Jensen said fiercely, still fighting to free his arms from Sam’s grip. “I wouldn’t want me, either!”

“Dammit, Jen, you don’t know, okay? All the shit me and my brother have been through. How much I owe him, what he’s done for me!”

“I would do it. I would go back if it made you happy.”

“But you don’t fucking have to! It doesn’t matter, it’s not happening that way. Ah, fuck, Jensen, just don’t do this to yourself. Nothing is perfect, you _know_ that. But look, we have each other.”

Jensen was shaking, crying, but he had stopped struggling.

“You’re only willing to do this because I am like Jared. That’s true, isn’t it? _Isn’t it_?” Sam demanded.

“Sam…”

“I don’t care. I know, but I don’t care. Do you understand that? I’m willing to take it, to deal with it. I’m an escape route for you, just so happens you’re already in love with half of me. _I don’t care._ Nobody here is going to get everything they want just the way they want it. But—but we can be good to each other, can’t we? We can understand what’s between us. That’s what’s important.”

“What’s between us…” Jensen echoed. “Dean. He’s between us.”

“Yeah. I belong with Dean. I always have. But your home is with me, if you want it to be. Help me make him understand when he gets here, okay?”

A little nod was better than nothing, better than hurting himself. Jensen was slowly unwinding in Sam’s arms, but the aftershocks were building. Jerking muscles and wavering eyes, Jensen was losing the battle inside his head and Sam couldn’t help him fight it. He pulled Jensen over onto his chest and waited.

The next few days were the worst so far, Sam thought, for Jensen. He vacillated between mute lethargy and violent hysteria with very little ground covered in between and all of it was wet from the constant trickle of tears that left salt streaks on his face eventually. Sam wiped them away when Jensen would let him get close enough. As if he couldn’t stand being touched, he would growl at Sam if he got too close, and once even bit Sam’s hand, snapping his teeth down on the meat under his thumb, snarling as he did so. Sam yelped and jerked his hand back, leaving Jensen with blood on his lips and panic in his eyes.

Later, pouring over the pathworking for the hundredth time, he felt Jensen slink into the kitchen and take his place at Sam’s knee. Warily, he touched the kid’s back.

“Jen, you alright?”

“No,” came the muffled reply. “Hurt you.”

“Yeah, a little. It’s okay.”

“Hurt me?”

“What? No. No, Jensen. Come here.”

Jensen made it as far as pushing himself onto his hands, head hanging. Sam sighed inwardly. Maybe he wasn’t as ready for this as he thought, maybe taking care of Jensen was going to be a lot harder than he wanted to believe. What the hell was he even going to _do_ with him when he and Dean started hunting again? He couldn’t come along, there just wasn’t any way. Not at this point, at least. His scent alone would give him away to most of the creatures they hunted, and right now it didn’t look like he’d be able to handle seeing terror come to life. He was certain Dean would think the kid a liability. Or, would he be invisible to monsters like he was to angels? Fuck it. They’d deal with it when the time came. But Sam couldn’t, would not, just leave him like _this_. He got down on his knees.

“Jensen, don’t fucking bite me again, okay?”

Jensen winced, but he nodded.

“Why did you?”

“Can’t. Can’t _feel_ anything.”

“You, what, did it so I’d hurt you? To feel something?”

“Please.”

 _Okay. Okay, this is_ … _wrong? In this state, can he know what he’s asking?_ Sam scrubbed at his face, knuckled his eyes ’til he saw stars. “Um. What do you want?”

“Nothing. Fine.” Jensen made a frustrated noise and his hands curled into fists. Sam moved a little closer, just in case.

“Would it help you? Me hurting you?” Sam felt a little ill just saying it.

“Yes. Or I will. _Have to._ Rhonda will.”

The cutter, Ellen had said. “No, um, look. Shit. I’ll—” _Fuck it. I miss him. Want him to smile again._

Sam clamped his hand down on the back of Jensen’s neck, knowing it was like grabbing a puppy by the scruff, and forced his head back down to the floor. Keeping him pinned there, he shoved the dirty sweatpants Jensen had on down and smacked his ass as hard as he could. The blow opened up the wound Jensen had left on his hand but Sam kept going, painting Jensen’s ass in blood and welts. He watched Jensen’s face as he spanked him, saw his eyes clench shut at first, then they opened, glassy but tearless, and unflinching. Sam knew he had to break through, had to reach him however deep he was, had to pull him up. To breathe, to feel again, to be alive rather than this hollow shell of himself.

His hand was numb before Jensen reacted, and it wasn’t what Sam expected. He spread his legs. Arched his back. Presented.

“God, Jensen,” Sam said, his cock thickening so fast it hurt.

He was not ready for this. Neither of them were. Blood from his hand and spit from his mouth won him entry into Jensen’s body and Jensen finally made a noise as Sam’s first thrust caused his knees slip out from under him and he slammed onto the floor. Grabbing a handful of his hair, Sam jerked his head back and Jensen squealed, nails scratching at the floor as Sam fucked him. When Sam’s teeth sunk into his shoulder, he screamed outright.

“Fucking hurts, doesn’t it?” Sam rasped in his ear. “That’ll leave a scar, though, you fucking happy now? Got my mark on you. What you wanted, huh?”

“Yes, Alpha, yes, yes, fuck.”

“I fucking need you, want you to come back to me now.”

Jensen whimpered, whined yes again, said he would.

Something was coiling inside Sam, something long ignored—the need to claim. His life. What he wanted. He’d never had anything that was his alone. Everything had been dictated by his father when he was a boy. As a teenager he’d always been in the shadow of Dean, was compared to Dean. He did it to himself, always measuring everything by the ruler of his brother. The things he’d done away from them were still because of them, his actions still owned and controlled by those two.

This, though. Jensen. Was his. His alone. He bit him again. Jensen’s blood was like ambrosia, like hot honey and melted butter and coconut cream and it stung his mouth somehow, made Sam wrench his head back, his tongue scalded. But it faded almost instantly and there was just the aftertaste, the coppery tang of blood he was very familiar with. When Sam dug his teeth in once more, as an experiment, and tasted the intoxicating mixture again, he opened his mouth wide and drew in muscle between his teeth. Jensen screamed again.

Without thinking, Sam slapped his bloody hand over Jensen’s mouth, and Jensen surged beneath him. At first Sam thought he was just struggling to get away, that maybe the smell of his blood was something Jensen didn’t like, but when Jensen opened his mouth and his tongue lapped over the wound and he caught Sam’s flesh in his teeth and wouldn’t let go, when he started _sucking_ , Sam was suddenly horrified.

What if. What if his blood was still tainted? What if Jensen was ingesting demon blood through him? What would that do to the omega? What if he’d already poisoned him?

“No, don’t do that!” he started, but Jensen was like a vice, both hands on Sam’s wrist, holding him and no matter how hard Sam fought, he couldn’t stop him. But he was so close to coming and Jensen was slicking up finally and Sam gave in.

 _Fuck it_ , he thought again, _let me change him as much as he’s done it to me. Feed off each other. Fucking addicted to him, anyway. Mine now, my blood and come and my scars on him. Fucking mine, mine, mine!_

“Belong to me, don’t you?” he gasped as he emptied himself inside Jensen. “I _want_ you to. Fucking need you now. I’m _yours_ , Jensen. You can’t leave me, don’t hurt yourself anymore, you are mine and I am yours, understand?”

“Yes, Alpha,” he said, letting go of Sam, bloody-mouthed, wide eyes throwing sparks as they watched Sam from the corners. “Yes, Sam.”

Then, when he was leaning back in Sam’s arms as they panted on the floor, he asked for food for the first time in two days. Sam sent him to the shower first, and after giving himself a cursory wipe-off with a kitchen towel and pulling his jeans back up, lit the barbecue on the porch.

Jensen was his. But there was more Sam needed. More he had to own. Had to at least try to claim, one way or another.

Jensen still cried. During the final days before the eclipse, Jensen cried until he couldn’t and then Sam would make him drink something, and the tears would start again. But he was talking. Eating a little. Staying close to Sam. Sam understood, didn’t mind the sniffling. The last train was leaving and Jensen wasn’t going to be on it. Never going to see his Alpha again. Wasn’t going to get a goodbye. Didn’t want a goodbye, because then he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t stay.

Once, Sam tried to put himself in the Alpha’s shoes. It made his head hurt so he stopped. He let Jensen worry about all that, let him grieve and fret, listened to him when he needed to work through something, kept an eye on him when he was quiet, and a hand on him when he was close enough.

Instead, Sam thought about Dean. Jensen had said that Dean had more than likely been subjected to drugs. Medications, definitely. Hormones possibly. Alastair. An Alpha who thought Dean was his long-time mate. All of that made his head hurt, too. And his heart. And his guts twist a little. Jared and Sam were very much alike, Jensen insisted. What Sam wanted to do, did do, to Jensen, let alone what he stopped bothering to convince himself were just fantasies and not his actual honest-to-God desires to do to Dean, which were also finally separating into things quite distinct from his feelings for Jensen, still, still made his stomach queasy. With fear—for Dean’s safety, health, sanity. And a little with jealousy. Possessiveness. Frustration. There would be nothing to hunt, nothing to kill and make pay if his brother came back hurt. And the list of hurts was potentially endless.

If he was even still alive.

Sam knew Dean. Knew he would fight.

Bobby called the afternoon of the eclipse and he and Sam went over the spells together, and again, until Bobby told Sam not to worry, that he had it down pat.

For once, Sam didn’t have to call Cas. He showed up, a small mesh basket in his hand.

“The fairy,” he said gruffly.

“Is that. What is that?” Sam asked, peering at the cage. It was empty as far as he could tell.

“Iron. Keeps the Brownie inside.”

“He’s in there?”

“Yes. We should do the binding ritual now and get him on his way. He’ll need a little time to find what you need to get Jensen home.”

“Cas, uh, he’s not going home.”

Castiel glared at him. “What do you mean?”

“He’s not. He’s staying here.”

“Sam.”

“There’s nothing to argue about. He’s not going.”

Dean had gotten a similar look from Castiel once, and not long after the angel had beaten Dean bloody. Sam gulped.

“He wants to stay with me, Cas.”

Cas’ chin came up and he searched Sam’s face. “I would just like to have on record that I do not approve of this.”

“It’s cool. Thank you for your concern—”

“It is concern, Sam. For you and your brother, and also for this omega. He is in danger here.”

“What? What are you talking about? Do you know—”

“Just _being_ here, Sam. Being with you. You’re a hunter. You and Dean are constantly on the battlefield, you are always drawing evil to yourselves, and he knows nothing of this world—”

“You know, you sound a little overprotective.”

“I. It’s. I’m not. Do I? It’s. It must be the scent. Never mind, Sam. You will do as you wish. As ever.”

“I thought you couldn’t see, or smell, whatever, anything about Jensen?”

“I can’t. It’s you I sense. It just makes me very concerned for you.”

“Thanks, Cas. C’mon, I have everything set up in the back. Lemme get Jen.”

Jensen could see the fairy.

“I’m not dreaming?” he asked again, chin on the table, peering into the little iron cage.

“Nope,” Sam laughed, carefully measuring the herbs into a bowl containing Dean’s ring.

“‘No’ what, Sam?”

“Not you, Cas. Jensen.”

“Oh.”

“Oh! What did it just say? Did it say something? I heard it!”

“That was very inappropriate,” Castiel scolded the fairy. “How lewd.”

Sam didn’t ask for a translation. “Dunno, Jen. Hey, come help me. I gotta read this incantation, when I get to here, you light the candles, and here, light the herbs.”

The scent of beeswax in the air, Latin Vulgate said, and burned lavender transmuted into warm water with the ring at the bottom. Now it was bound to its owner and set on a sort of magical timer to return to this place through the path of the moon. Cas spoke to the Brownie, opened the cage, and to Sam it was as if the ring just disappeared. Jensen saw the little bandy-legged being fit the wet ring over its body like a belt, its fat belly keeping it from sliding down, and then there was a spark of light and they both did actually disappear.

“How long will it take?”

“I am not sure Sam, the time diff—oh, it’s back.” Cas squatted down eye level with the table and spoke again in a weird, rolling whisper.

“It doesn’t have the ring, Sam!” Jensen said excitedly. “It must’ve gotten there. It… I wonder…” he trailed off, and Sam put his hand over Jensen’s.

“It says the deed is done. It left the ring on a table where it is sure to be seen, and that someone fitting Dean’s description was moving about the house. Do you have the porridge?”

“Uh, yeah, here.” Sam handed Castiel the little plastic thimble with Cream Of Wheat in it. Cas put it in the cage and after a moment’s pause, shut the door.

Now it was a matter of waiting. For Sam it might as well have been a year. The night dragged by. Jensen curled himself under Sam’s arm, trickling tears. Castiel stood by the mantle, a trenchcoated statue.

Jensen eventually drifted off to sleep, warm and solid and his. Here. With Sam. Never leaving. It was final. It was real. It didn’t feel real, but it was. And Dean would be back soon. And Castiel was with them, too. What had Jensen said? A pack. His pack. And Sam would kill for them. Die for them.

“It’s time, Sam,” Castiel said.

In the predawn darkness, Sam gently untangled himself from Jensen and began pouring the crushed glass into the ritual symbol. The aqua aura crystal was set in the center of the sigil, and the silphium resin was lit inside the auroch horn. Sam began the incantation, eyes closed. Vaguely, he was aware of Jensen stirring behind him and of Castiel moving closer. He was glad. He needed them.

They were each a part of the magic, he realised, seeing the trinity, understanding their link to the components of the spell. He was the auroch horn, the bull, Taurus—courage, will, the energy to pull Dean back toward his origins. The blue crystal was Castiel—the healer, the spiritual force, the being that had brought Dean out of Hell, manifested in Sam’s brother the purity he’d long denied. Jensen was broken glass, joy tempered by loss, a reminder of beginnings and to never take for granted what life offered you. What was left was the resin, the stinging, transient smoke, unforgettable and strong, like Dean, yet the smallest thing could disperse it, could take him away. He was love, embodied, like the flower the resin was culled from. The smoke rose, Jensen and Castiel flanked him, and Sam chanted to open the path of the moon between where the bound ring was and the place it belonged.

Where they couldn’t see it, the moon was shadowed and energies shifted, vibrated, and aligned in time.

Castiel left. Head down, shoulders slumped, he gently took the cage in hand and without a word, vanished. Carefully, Sam cleaned the glass from the table, dumping it into a paper bag already containing a horn, a blue crystal and burnt, sticky resin. Tossing it in the corner of the room for now, he went outside. The night was clear and the stars were astounding. Would be, if Sam could have seen them through his tears. It hadn’t worked. Whatever he’d expected, a pop, a hiss, Dean falling from the ceiling or materialising on the table, none of it happened, and nothing he hadn’t expected had happened either. Whether it had failed or it just wouldn’t have worked anyway, maybe the fucking Brownie lied, Sam didn’t know. All he was certain of was that his goddamned brother was not here.

There was a bottle in his hand and he drank from it, not knowing what it was. Bobby’s cheap whiskey burned his throat, gave him one more reason to cry. He tilted the bottle back again. Some of it came back up and he leaned over the edge of the stairs and gagged, then drank more to wash the taste of failure and loss out of his mouth.

“Sam?”

“I love you, Jensen. I never could tell Dean that. I mean, I did, you know, sometimes with those actual words, even. Be careful, I’ll help you, don’t be stupid, that’s usually what I said, but I meant I love you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Fuckin’ me, too. _Shit_.”

The empty bottle exploded against the path.

Jensen sat on the steps next to him. Sam raked both hands back through his hair and he was shaking when Jensen flicked at the tears on his cheeks.

“I’m fuckin’ sorry, Jen. I’ve already done things to you that I regret. The shit about Dean, you know? I shouldn’t have. Not right, and I used you, not thinking it would matter. That you’d go.”

“This has been really hard, Sam. We didn’t know.”

“I just. I love you for _you_ , okay? Not because I want Dean and can’t have him. Not because, or maybe because, a little bit—I don’t fucking know, but I care about you. I like you. You’re your own creature. You look like Dean, but what’s inside is just you, and you’re perfect and fucked up and beautiful, and fucking brave and I just don’t want you to think I don’t love _you_.”

“I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE TIME  
> I wrote an alternative ending to this story starting with the next chapter. You can continue reading this here and see it through to how I intended the story to end, which will take you nicely into the next story, Between Two Minds OR you can hop over [here ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6741055?view_full_work=true)and read a happy ending to this 'verse. It won't flow with the rest of the works to follow, but HAPPY ENDING!


	15. Chapter 15

**Dean**

 

_Jared,_

_I’m not who you think I am. Not what you think I am. This has all been horrible and strange and sometimes not so bad. Doing the best we can, both of us. Nobody is perfect. I have to do something that might really screw things up, but you’re tough. You can deal with it. I don’t know if I’ll be around after. If I am, don’t come find me. You don’t have to, you don’t owe me anything, and I don’t want you to. Not going to explain myself any more because I know you can’t understand. And that’s okay. Just want to say that I’m sorry. I know you won’t believe me, but maybe someday you will know the truth._

_I want you to know that your Jensen is safe if he’s with my brother._

— _Dean_

Writing the note was sealing his fate. He understood that. He accepted that. Wanted it. He couldn’t do this anymore. He’d said that once, months ago, to Charlie. He’d meant it, but he had bided his time. If he were in his world, it would be in flames by now and he and Sam would be doing the hero walk away from heat like badasses. But he was alone. He was barely himself. He was confused, tired and pissed off. He was weak and trapped in a body that was almost unrecognisable to him.

The face in the mirror was not his. His eyes were almost completely omega eyes now, a sort of coffee bean brown colour with chips of shiny obsidian in them, the left still tinged with green around the outside, but that would be gone soon. He felt less driven than he’d hoped once he’d won free of the medications. It was the shots, the forced modification into an omega. He’d not factored in how different these creatures were. How docile, how sedate and accepting of their fates.

Before he lost himself completely, he had to stop Alastair.

That’s what got him out of bed. That’s what made him take a shower, what prompted him to turn the knob to cold. To wake his ass up, to get him motivated when all he really wanted to do was sleep until Jared got home, to ask him to rub his shoulders. His legs and back. Everything ached.

He’d been planning for this day. He’d asked Charlie to help. After finding out Alastair had been tampering with not just Dean’s and Jared’s medication but her own as well, she was furious, and when she’d opened the box containing the little red shoes belonging to a woman named Dorothy whom Alastair was keeping in a coma, she’d called Dean back and cried into the phone for several minutes before she said, “Whatever you need, Jens.”

What he needed was a day when she was not at work but Alastair was. A day when Jared was gone as well, a day both Alphas would be working late. Dean couldn’t have people in the clinic with Alastair when he showed up. The time came six days after Charlie had cried over her Alpha’s shoes, had stowed them safely back in the post office box, had called Dean and said she was in. She wanted to tell the authorities, but Dean knew that wouldn’t be enough. Alastair had money, and very powerful friends, people and companies that he was making a whole lot of money for. Chances were, even if he did get in trouble for what he was doing to them, it’d be a slap on the wrist and he’d be right back at it.

Dean told Charlie to wait, that he had a better plan. One that would definitely give Alastair what he deserved. Charlie had her own theories on what that was, and some of them even made Dean squirm, but you can take the balls from a sex offender and it won’t stop them, because it’s about power and that is all in the brain.

“You just rein in the rage, sister, okay? I’ll take care of this. You come get me the first chance you get.”

That chance was now. Or rather, soon. Alastair’s office had just closed. Jared was working late all this week and Charlie was on her way over to pick him up.

Not soon enough.

He wandered around the house to keep himself busy, to fight off the anxiety. He’d never been this nervous going on a hunt before.

_Fucking omega bullshit. Worried about causing a fuss, worried about standing up for themselves._

_Just a little while longer and it wouldn’t matter at all, you know. Just be what you’re becoming._

“Shut the fuck up,” he said out loud. Out of habit.

He found himself in the living room. Standing in the middle of it, he turned in a slow circle. The stereo that had saved his sanity so many times. The weird, paper-thin television he’d mostly avoided, Jared’s tattered recliner in front of it. The view of the little green yard outside the window. The long leather couch he’d slept on more than once. With Jared, more than once. More than slept. The potbelly stove. Bookshelves. The pictures Dean had found inside _The Disavowed Planet_ were lying on one of them, never having been returned to the book in the bedroom. He flipped them over. Two of them Jared hadn’t been able to look at, and Dean studied them now. One was a professional shot, the kind moms make their kids get their senior year, all soft focus and standing by a tree. Jimmy was blond, his hair long and tousled, hanging in his eyes as he pouted, leaned, sulked, seduced. Dean smiled.

 _What_ _a dork_.

But he might have been friends with him had they met in his world, for the minute that he was ever in a school long enough to make a friend other than just the girls he wanted to finger in storage closets.

_Wonder if Jared helped him bleach his hair?_

The other picture was more candid, and Dean sighed. Jared had definitely taken this picture, he was sure of it. Jimmy was sitting on the edge of a cliff—the lip of the sinkhole, the blue of the water visible in the corner of the shot. The setting sun was behind the young man and he had been caught just as he had turned to look at Jared, a little smile kissing his lips, his hair dark again, like his lashes, like the look in his eyes.

Dean put the picture in his pocket. Then, carefully keeping his mind blank, he found a little framed picture of him and Jared— _Jensen_ and Jared—and, removing the frame, pocketed that picture, too.

 _Sentimental omega bullshit,_ he lied to himself.

He sat down on the couch and put the note he’d written on the table next to Jared’s computer, which was plugged into the wall with the cord Dean had given him. Jared had playfully wrapped the cord around Dean’s throat when he’d won it free of its package and kissed him his thanks, while lifting Dean onto his tiptoes by the makeshift leash.

Dean closed his eyes, body aching, heart pounding. There was a fluttering in his ears that he could only stop by rolling his eyes up and to the right and holding them there. The sound was familiar.

_Castiel’s wings. Want them. Wrapped around me. Safe. Want to go somewhere with the angel. Anywhere._

“Jen? Um, Dean?”

_A little campfire flickered in the distance and he was standing alone in a field, the night pressing him down. He hugged himself, shivering, hurting, alone and afraid._

“Hey, buddy. If we’re going to do this, and I don’t even know what this is, we need to go now. There’s not much time, and Jared’s pretty punctual. He might even hurry to get here. So, let’s go!”

_He felt a tugging on his arm. He tugged back, wanting to pull Charlie into the night, wanted someone just to be with him. Some kind of touch, some kind of comfort. They could hide from everyone, take care of each other, love each other. But the longing in him prickled, itched, was missing something. Someone. Hazel eyes. Dimples. Annoying habits. Jared? No. Not-Jared._

“Dean!” Charlie slapped him, and the campfire detonated. Dean gasped and jerked upright.

“Fuck me,” he groaned.

“Sorry, no want to. But, Charlie’s gotcha covered in all other ways, yo. Let’s get you up. Ack, well, you get that down, okay?”

Dean mumbled an apology.

“Eh, I’ll wash my eyes off later.” Her voice softened as she got her arm around his and helped him stand, staggered a little, and steadied them. “It’s not your fault, anyway.”

“Thanks, Charlie.”

“It’s cool. I’m so over being Creep-astair’s bee-otch. I’m outtie soon as I get you where you’re going. So, um, Dean, where are you going?”

He didn’t answer her right away. He pulled himself together and let her help him down to her car. He leaned back in the seat, tried to keep his breathing even, and his eyes closed against the yellow glare off the hood. His balls ached. _Jesus, no wonder omegas are about useless here._ All he could think about what how to make the pain stop. Maybe he could try again tomorrow. Maybe he should just wait for Jared to come home, take care of him.

“Drive, Charlie,” he gritted.

“Okey doke, but where to, Captain?”

“Your work,” he finally said, once they were in traffic.

“Oh, uh uh. Nope. No way. Abort, abort!”

“Charlie, listen. He’s not going to stop. Alastair is going to keep doing this fucked up shit to other people if I don’t stop him. He’s going to find you again, and I can’t let that happen. I can’t let him keep ruining people’s lives.”

Charlie was gripping the wheel, white-knuckled, her brown eyes huge and terrified. “But, Dean! Alastair’s not just going to let you like, what, rip up his license? He won’t admit to anything. Even if he can get in trouble for his experiments, like you said, he’ll just keep doing it and sell it on the dee-ell. Sell his secrets to the foreigners or something!”

“I know, darlin’.”

“So…what then? Oh, oh, no you don’t. I don’t know you, but I know that look on you. You can’t _kill_ him, Dean!”

“Yes, I can.”

 _“No,_ you _can’t._ Omegas can’t kill Alphas, Dean, it’s like some biological imperative. Ones that do, bad things happen to them.”

“I am not an omega. Not even close.” _Not completely._

Charlie made a worried whimper but kept her arguments to herself. She pulled over a block away from the lab, scurried out of the car, but Dean made it out by himself before she got to him.

“Well, that’s good. You can at least stand. Standing is good when you’re going to murder someone.”

“Don’t say that, Charlie. And don’t admit to anything, okay? You don’t know what I’m doing, you didn’t bring me here, you were at home. No, no, listen to me. You go back home and go about your day. If you run now, you’ll be suspect. But if you’re at home making fuck-face dinner that he never came home to eat, that’s normal. You can leave later. She’s not going anywhere from what I hear. She’ll be there, waiting. For you.”

“Dean…”

He hugged her. “Go on, darlin’. You’ve been great.”

“Talking like you’re going to the gallows,” she said, tears in her silver-gilt eyes.

“Get in your car, Charlie. Don’t look back. Don’t regret this. Just go. For me, okay? Gotta know you’re safe away from here.”

She went. She cried a little, hugged him again, opened and closed her mouth, got in her car and was gone.

“Good girl,” he said after her.

He’d stolen her key card to let himself into the building. There were a few cars still in the staff parking lot, and Dean waited at the bus stop halfway down the block until a woman he recognised from the reception desk, and then two orderlies left the building and drove away, emptying the place. Head down, he trotted up to the building and swiped Charlie’s card and slipped inside. Quietly, he did a quick check. No one else was in the clinic or the lab. But Alastair was indeed here. Dean could smell the doctor’s cold, stale odor growing stronger as he tiptoed his way to the office doors.

Alastair gave him the satisfaction of looking sincerely astonished when Dean pushed the door open.

“This is a surprise. Hello, Jensen. Where’s Jared? I must have missed his phone call.”

“Drop the act, asshole. This ends right now, got it?”

“ _Excuse_ _me_?”

Dean was shaking. Fucking _shaking_. The rage and determination inside him were fighting tooth and nail with an omega’s natural desire to cower in front of an Alpha’s anger. Especially when that Alpha stood and circled the desk, irritation and anger oozing from him.

But Alastair did not come towards him, merely leaned on the desk and regarded Dean with an amused expression. “So it’s come to this, has it? Oh, I’m disappointed. I was hoping to watch you struggle longer. You’ve been such a good sport. Suffering so, not wanting Jensen’s life. Well. Come with me to the lab, Dean, and I’ll make you forget. Just like I made him forget.”

“Made him forget what?”

“Me, sadly. Our precious time together. My sweet toy for all those years.”

“You’re a fucking monster, Alastair.”

“Now, Dean. What are you gonna do? Beat me up?”

“More than that.”

“I’d love to see you try, little omega.”

Dean knew he was being goaded and he let it happen, had to use any kind of fuel he could to drive him forward when all he really wanted to do was turn tail and run, find Jared, hide behind his Alpha. He took a step forward. Alastair didn’t move. Another step, and he leaned down and used his left hand to slide the butcher knife he’d secured in his boot free. Alastair’s eyebrow went up.

“Big blade there, Dean-o. You wanna stick it in me, huh? I’ll let you. Just come over here and pick a spot.”

Suddenly, Alastair’s nostrils flared, his mouth opened, his tongue flicked behind his teeth. “Oh, my lamb, you’re going into _heat_ , aren’t you? I’ve missed that. Let’s not fight, Dean. Just let me have you. I can make you feel _all better_.”

Dean lunged, faking with the knife. Alastair jerked away from it, right into Dean’s fist. There was a crack and a spurt of blood and Alastair howled, hands coming up to his bleeding nose. Dean swept his shin against Alastair’s legs, buckling them, knocking him to his knees. He switched the knife to his right hand and closed in for the kill, not wanting to fuck around. Everything in him was now demanding him to stop, to back down, to fucking apologise. Offer his throat. His balls, aching and hot, felt like they were actually somewhere up inside his body. He swung the knife.

Alastair had a long reach. Dean should’ve remembered that, should’ve done a lot of things differently he realised in a flash, just as Alastair’s palm slammed into his groin, and now his balls were definitely somewhere they shouldn’t be. Dean gasped and staggered and Alastair deflected his arm easily.

Dean wasn’t going down though. Would. Not. Bile in his throat, he surged forward, into Alastair, crashing them both against the desk. Alastair scrabbled for the edge as Dean tried to drag him down, and then Dean felt something smash into the side of his face. Felt his jaw come apart inside his mouth. Tasted salt.

Alastair shoved him off and clambered to his feet, panting. He dropped the blue rock salt lamp, letting it shatter on the floor, and jerked Dean to his feet. Dean couldn’t see. Just couldn’t. His eyes were swimming in his head and the pain from his jaw was blinding. He stumbled and Alastair kicked him. His left ankle crunched inside his boot.

Alastair dragged him the rest of the way through his office and across the clinic to the lab where Charlie worked. Dean tried one last time to get a hold of Alastair. Shoving up with his good leg, he slammed the crown of his head into Alastair’s chin and was rewarded with a cry of pain, but Alastair was just too strong. Spitting blood from his bitten tongue, he flung Dean into the lab. Dean crashed into the cabinet on the opposite wall. Glass doors broke and little bottles and vials and flasks rained down around him. He crumbled, face down in the mess, cut, shattered, snapped. His ears were buzzing, that fluttering was back, but Dean had no illusions this time.

“ _Stupid_ ,” Alastair spit. “Had to go and ruin that pretty face. That’s okay. I have more than enough digital of Jensen to get me by. That’s what I paid Jared with, the money Jensen’s pretty face and pink little hole earned me. Selling him, selling the films. Made me rich. Little boy in heat? You wouldn’t believe the Alphas who will line up for that! And his fucking ‘friends,’ they made the show even better. Created one of them myself, a slutty girl who likes being hurt. Likes being _cut_. Sliced right open. She’d do it for money!” Alastair laughed uproariously at that. “I’d give it to her and just take it from Jensen later. He didn’t have any idea! When he started getting too old to make good money the _easy_ way, he became my guinea pig. You know about that already, don’t you, Dean? Whipped up a delicious case of schizo. And it was easy enough to wipe his memory over and over again. ECT does it naturally, but drugs, that’s what I like the best. All those _reactions_. Better than sex. More controlling, more invasive. Get the fuck up. We’re going to be _very_ intimate.”

“Alastair.”

Jared’s voice was like hearing the Impala's rumble as Dad came home from work when Dean was three. It was Sam’s burbling baby laughter. His mom singing to him. It was distant thunder and the promise of rain when summer had gotten old. The sound of popping open a cold beer, and of Sammy calling his name with all the excitement a boy can have when he wants to show his big brother something _so cool._

“Your stupid fucking omega has been very, very bad, Jared!” Alastair said, his voice just a little shrill.

“Is that so? Your omega told me something different. She told me you are the bad one. From what I just heard, I’m inclined to believe her.”

Alastair’s expression never changed—that smug, doe-eyed, I-know-something-you-don’t look. Dean wanted Jared to rip it clean off his face. His own felt like it was cracked. His tongue worked out pieces of broken teeth, pushed them past swollen lips. His cheek was burning, his eyes too, like acid had been thrown on him. _Oh, shit. Not thrown._ Whatever he’d crashed into, broken, spilled, was on him, on the floor, colours and thicknesses mixing, _moving_.

“I’m going to fucking tear you apart.”

Jared was moving. Advancing on Alastair with a lethal ease Dean had seen before. When Sam killed. When Sam was single-minded. When he was protecting someone, protecting Dean, especially. From the floor—and he couldn’t seem to get up, couldn’t get his feet under him, sharp, shocking pains up his left leg when he tried—Dean could see both men. Jared was empty handed, but Alastair wasn’t. He was hiding something, one hand behind his back, obscured by his coat, the other hand out, urging Jared on. Dean tried to make his mouth move, his tongue work, to warn Jared Alastair was armed, but he couldn’t make himself be heard, didn’t know if he was speaking over the ringing in his ears.

“Come on, you giant turd. You tired of me fucking your boy, finally? Every time you brought him here, I had him. Even if I couldn’t knot him, I was fucking him. Stuffing him full of drugs, keeping him addicted to me, needing _me_. Your cock, your ‘special bond,’ couldn’t compete, could it? He had to have more. You weren’t enough!”

“He never wanted to come near you. _I made him._ I let you get to him, made him behave, made him trust you because I did. This is _my_ fault!”

With that, Jared leapt on Alastair. At the same moment there was pop and a blue explosion of light next to Dean. And then heat, incredible heat. He lurched away somehow, scrabbling on shards of glass, cutting his hands, his knees, fire licking at his heels. The burn was echoed on his face as the same chemicals began to char his flesh. Tears started to course and he tried to scrub his face, tried to see, but the men were a blur. He could hear laboured breath. Alastair wheezing. A thudding noise he knew was fists on flesh, and then Jared let out a sharp cry and Dean blinked furiously, scooting closer.

Jared fell back, looking down at his arm. There was a plastic pen jutting out of it like the one Jared used to inject him with omega hormones, but this was a different colour. Jared brushed it off and looked up. He met Dean’s eyes.

Then he started bleeding. It poured from his nose first, then from his right eye. Started trickling down his neck as his ears overflowed. He bared his bloody teeth and Dean’s heart hammered, remembering the first time he had seen this man, seen the same look of rage on his face.

Jared swung back towards Alastair and Alastair was ready, scalpel snatched off the floor in his hand. Jared crashed into him, hands like claws at his throat, tearing. Alastair screamed then, finally, a sound Dean had never once heard, here or in Hell, and for a moment he thought they might make it out alive. Then Alastair swung the scalpel, haphazardly. It dug into Jared’s shoulder first, was wrenched out, stuck into his collarbone and jerked back again, and then it hit home. Jared’s throat opened cleanly, low, near his clavicle. He tumbled over and Alastair scrambled away, his hand to his own throat. He was bleeding, rents in his skin, but the blood wasn’t pumping hard enough to be fatal, Dean could tell that much.

 _I’m so dead,_ he thought.

“ _Fucking_ _animal_!” Alastair yelled. “Fucking rutting filth! Worthless shit-eating Alphas! Think you can just fuck and mate and claim whoever you want! We’ll see, won’t we? I’ll start all over again so _Betas_ can have what we want, what we _deserve_!”

It didn’t matter anymore, but it made sense; Alastair was a Beta. He’d been doping himself to pass as an Alpha, had been trying to claim an omega. Jensen must have been his first obsession.

The crazed Beta jumped on Jared and jammed the scalpel into his chest again, and again. Jared was alive, his eyes open, blood-filled and twitching, but he made no move to stop Alastair, his face as white as the floor.

Something burst with a deafening bang in a cabinet that was on fire, and that’s what finally got Alastair back to his feet. He ducked and lurched for the door as a part of the ceiling fell, burning bits of tile raining down. Grinning maniacally, he backed away, searching the room for Dean. When he saw him huddled in the corner, he blew him a kiss.

“See you somewhere else, Dean. Some other time.”

There was another explosion, and Alastair’s chest blossomed, flooded crimson. He stumbled back against the wall and slid down. Jared had a small pistol in his hand. He grunted at the effort of holding his arm out, but he waited until he was sure Alastair wasn’t going to rise again. Then he collapsed, the gun falling to the side.

Dying, Jared still twisted his head around, searching. Dean dragged himself to Jared and pulled him up against his chest, could hear him gurgling terribly, drowning.

“Oh man, Jared, don’t fucking die,” Dean begged, feeling blood soak through his clothing. So much of it. Dean had smelled blood before, many times, from many different lifeforms, but nothing had ever been like this. It was Jared, concentrated. The wilderness under a full moon, savage and wild, windswept mountains and lightening-struck firs, a river cold and pure, all of it inside Jared, all over Dean.

Jared’s lips moved and Dean pressed his face against his cheek to hear him, to touch him.

“Jensen,” Jared whispered, and Dean’s heart ached, but he didn’t say no, didn’t correct him, but Jared finally, _finally_ , understood. “Love him. So sorry, De. Find, keep him safe.”

“I promise, Jared, fucking find him with me, though, okay? Just hold on, lemme get us out, you weren’t supposed to be here, dammit,” Dean rattled on, looking around, half-blind, his face seared to the bone, he was sure of it.

It was going to be more than his face soon, he realised. The room was on fire. Alastair was on fire. The door was on fire. The fucking air was on fire it hurt so much to breathe. Chemicals hissing and popping all around him, wood furnishings crackling, flames dripping from the ceiling. Jared’s fingers on his. He looked down. Jared was pressing something against the back of his hand. Dean fumbled it out of his blood-stiff fingers.

_My ring? My fucking bottle opener? How the hell?_

“Jared, where— _Alpha, no. Fuck_!”

Jared’s blood wasn’t flowing over Dean anymore. Not flowing at all. He let Jared’s body slide to the floor and knelt there, one hand on his still chest, the other cradling the long-lost ring. Fire rained around him, licked at his clothes; the air too hot to inhale, and he was glad he was going to die. At least he had something from home.

He felt a jolt, closed his eyes, assumed the roof had caved in. Heard sirens screaming in the distance. Wanted them to wait.


	16. Chapter 16

**Brothers**

 

“ _Sam_!”

He hadn’t heard Jensen’s voice so panicked since the first day he’d shown up, when Sam had found him huddled under the stairs. He jerked out of his stupor and bolted into the house. He heard Jensen cry out again, honed in on his frightened scent, and crashed through the door to their room.

Jensen was on his knees next to a gore splattered lump, one that was smoldering, one that fucking _reeked_. It lifted its head, half its face burnt away. One green-rimmed eye peered up, the lashes curled from heat. Sam staggered, dropped to his knees and grabbed his brother.

“Dean, oh my god, what happened? I did the spell, I had to wait for the eclipse, but I thought it didn’t work, it was last night, you didn’t come back. Your face, jesus, Dean. Fuck, oh man, your _eyes_ ,” Sam babbled.

He patted Sam’s hand where it was cupping his face, the most reassurance he was capable of. He wanted to vomit and lie down, not necessarily in that order. There was something sweet in the air that was almost enough to grant him the first part of his wish, something he could smell even over the Alpha-blood-burnt-building-boiled-chemicals stench in his nose.

Another pair of hands grabbed him. He wanted them to be Castiel’s. Missed him. But the face he looked into when his head was prized around was his own. Brown-eyed, distorted by grief. Dean knew who this was, knew now where the smell was coming from. Knew what he had to say.

“I’m sorry,” Dean groaned, before his other could get the words out.

“Jared’s dead. Oh, no. No. _No_!” Jensen screamed. He screamed, crumbled. Screamed into the floor, into backs of his hands, covered his mouth, wretched, screamed again, the sound bloody and raw and heartbreaking. Dean wanted to cover his ears against the omega’s pain, but the best he could do was scoot back, take the smell of the dead Alpha as far away as he could. He pushed himself with his heel until he hit the far wall, shaking with the effort and other things he would not admit to himself. He waved a hand at Sam, seeing his brother frozen between them. Jensen’s wailing had become gasps, gags, and open-mouthed sobs, and Dean couldn’t take it.

“Get him outta here, Sam.”

He watched as his brother scooped up Jensen and swept him out of the room. Instantly, the cloying scent disappeared and Dean tried for a deeper breath, coughed, his seared lungs agony. Sam was back in less than a minute and was lifting him now, too, dragging him to the couch, and he couldn’t breathe at all anymore.

 _I’m so tired of being unconscious,_ he thought as he passed out.

Cas’ voice woke him up. “I can’t, Sam. I told you before, I can’t affect anything from their world. It’s just going to have to wear off on its own, if it does.”

“If? Shit, Cas.”

“I can’t stay. It’s confusing for me. _Uncomfortable_.”

“No, wait,” Dean slurred, trying to sit up. Sam was there, helping him. He was dizzy but not in pain anymore. He looked up at Sam questioningly.

“Cas healed you. Well, most of you. Dean, he can’t fix—your eyes, you know?”

“The hell?”

“Long story. I’ll tell you later. Your jaw is better though, the burns, too. Your ankle was broken.”

“Thanks, Cas. God, I missed you guys. I’m really _here_ , right? Not another fucked up dream?”

“Yeah, man. You’re home. Got you back.”

“Took you long enough,” Dean growled, but Sam laughed.

“Dean. Sam. I _really_ want to go. Call me if you need anything else.”

“Hot date, Cas?” Dean teased to keep himself from begging him to stay. Cas gathered his trench coat around himself and glared, his lips pressed into a tight line. Dean caught a curious scent. “Wait, are you going to the _prom_?”

“ _Sam_.”

“It’s cool, Cas, go. I’ll explain—” Cas disappeared, throwing papers everywhere “—it to Dean. Okay, then.”

Dean leaned back, putting his feet up on the coffee table. He ached inside, his bones hurt, but he resisted the temptation to rub his legs, his arms. He stretched instead. That was normal enough. His brother was watching him like he was going to disappear again. Staring, really. At his face. His eyes.

“Weird, huh?” Dean said, and winked the solid brown one.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry,” Sam flushed and glanced away quickly. “Cas says it will fade.”

“Says it _might_. I heard you guys. Don’t worry about it. I feel better already,” he lied. “So I’m here, but why didn’t Jensen go back there, Sam?”

The way Sam drew himself up reminded Dean so much of Jared he actually felt his stomach drop.

“Sam?” he said again, pissed to hear a little tremor in his voice.

“He didn’t want to go back, Dean. How you looked twenty minutes ago, I think you might understand why.”

“Is he really crazy? Man, that _sucked_. Fuckin’ no one would listen to a goddamn word I said.”

“He’s shaky sometimes, but he’s a lot better now than when this first happened. That’s why I think you’ll be ok, go back to normal.”

“You know what, Sam, before we get into anything, I really, really want to shower. Throw these fucking clothes away.”

“Yeah. Even I can smell it.”

Dean ignored that. He stood, just a bit wobbly, and slapped the offered hand away, but didn’t say anything when Sam followed him to the bathroom and plunked the toilet lid down, perching there behind a little privacy wall while Dean peeled off the bloody, melted layers and turned the water on. Just as he was about to step into the tub, he remembered something. Two pictures. He found them relatively undamaged and sat them on the counter, face down.

“Is mini-me okay?” Dean called out above the water after a moment.

“Not really. Inconsolable, I think would describe it.”

“If he didn’t want to go back, why’s he so upset?”

“It’s more complicated than that. Fuck, man, what _happened_?”

Dean sighed. He made the water hotter, found that just made him spin, and turned it almost to cold. He knew he was going to have to tell this twice because there were things he wasn’t going to admit to Sam that he was positive the kid in the other room would need to know. Now was as good a time as any to start separating them.

“Uh, well. Short version—I showed up, Jared thought I was _him_ going through some kind of ’specially crazy phase. Alastair—jesus christ, Sam, _Alastair_ —”

“I know, Dean.”

“Their fucking doctor. Was screwing with those two, had them doped and drugged and all fucked up.”

“Jared, too?”

“Yeah! Man, the shit Alastair pulled. Had been messin’ with Jensen since he was a boy, I guess.” Dean shook himself, saw stars, decided to get out. Sam tossed a towel on the counter and Dean scrubbed himself dry while Sam found him some clothes. His little brother came back with a plastic bag, too, which he bundled Dean’s dirty clothes into like he was picking up dog shit, keeping the plastic between them and his skin, his brow drawn down, his jaw clenched.

Clothed and clean, Dean felt a little more like himself. Just a little.

“Anyway,” he started again, following Sam to the kitchen and sitting at the table, “I finally convinced this chick Charlie to help me out. She was with Alastair at first, but I figured out how to prove he was lying to her and, ugh,” he groaned, putting his head into his hands. He was fucking exhausted.

“Dean?”

He felt Sam’s hand on his back. He flinched and saw his brother's eyes narrow, but Dean cut him off before Sam could ask him questions he was not going to answer.

“’M fine, Sam, just tired. Anyway, I didn’t know if I was coming back, so I decided the only right thing to do was kill Alastair. So that’s what I did. Or, I tried. I couldn’t do it. Fucking drugs messed me up. He got the jump on me, slimy fuck. Was doing the villain monologue and everything. Thought I was fucking boned, honestly. Stuck there. This prick was either going to kill me or I was gonna—” He stopped himself.

_I am fucking tired, aren’t I?_

“Gonna what?”

“Nothin’. Jared followed me, heard what Alastair said and finally must’ve figured I’d been telling the truth the whole time. He was pissed, naturally. I tried to warn him but he got too close and Alastair had some syringe thing, shot Jared full of something toxic. He started bleeding… Kept fighting, though, so Alastair stabbed him with a scalpel. I knocked some combustible shit over, I guess, ’cause the fucking wall went up, ceiling. I don’t like fire, Sam.”

“I know.”

Sam was sitting across from him now, hands out, close to, but not touching him. Dean was glad of that. Because he wanted to be touched. More than anything.

“Alastair panicked, was looking for a way out, and Jared shot him. Fuckin’ dead on, dropped him like a brick, fucking eyes open, mouth open, slumped against the wall. Weird, dunno where he got a gun. Fire got to him quick. I wanted to get Jared out, but there was nowhere to go. I didn’t know what to do, Sam.” Tears started to seep, and Dean let them. Somehow they metered out a little bit of relief from the aching in his body, and the words were even more cathartic. “Like losing you, but it wasn’t you, but I lost you, wasn’t going back I thought. Jared. He said, he, um, he had my ring. I thought I’d lost it. Where did you get it?”

“Jensen found it in the back seat.”

Dean chuckled. “Baby had my ring. Figures.” He wiped at his face, clenched his hands to keep them from trembling. “Yeah, um, so Jared died and I just sat there, looking at the ring. Wondering how the hell, you know? Building burning, ceiling coming down on me, and then I was here.”

Sam was quiet and Dean would’ve probably told him to take a picture under normal circumstances, but nothing was normal right now. He let him look. He closed his eyes, rolled his neck, leaned back in the chair, opened his eyes and stared back. His little brother didn’t seem any the worse for wear. Kinda tired and thin, but that wasn’t unusual. Dean breathed in slow and deep, trying to be covert about it. The worst of the burning smell had faded from his sinuses, though Jared’s scent, his blood, his death, seemed to have permeated his senses, but even through that Dean found Sam. Oranges. Mouthwatering, summertime cooler-cold Orange Crush in a can, with just a little touch of clove to it. There was that faint, sickly-sweet smell, too. Like funeral flowers. Vanilla beans. It clung to Sam, it didn’t come from him.

“Will I ever get the long version?” asked Sam.

“Do you remember when we were kids and we’d make ice cream floats with orange pop?”

“Um, yeah, sure…”

“That’s what you smell like. Or like an orange creamsicle.”

Sam didn’t break eye contact, didn’t let his face show anything, but Dean knew. He let it slide. Not a conversation he was going to have with Sam right now. Not something he was going to think about.

“So, where’s Bobby?”

“Still in Mexico.”

“What? That’s a long time for—wait. Wait, why isn’t it Christmas?”

“Uh?”

“Dude, seriously. How long have I been gone?”

“Two months.”

“Man. I am so fucking old.”

“How long were _you_ gone, Dean?”

“More than a year!”

“Oh, shit.”

“Yeah.”

“Sam?” Jensen’s tremulous voice made both brothers jump in their seats.

Sam immediately stood and went to him, but he didn’t touch. Dean thought Jensen looked like he needed it, and that Sam didn’t have to hold back on his account, but he kept his mouth shut, uncertain if it would come out sarcastic or not. Anyway, it gave him a chance to look at the infamous omega.

He didn’t understand how someone could mistake them, honestly. Even in Dean’s clothes. Jensen wore them differently for one thing. No belt, jeans slung low on his hips, tee shirt with the collar clipped open. Barefoot, something Dean never did, not around Bobby’s house, especially. He was wearing the dark grey hoodie and had cut thumb holes in the sleeves, which Dean found annoying and cute at the same time. Long fingernails scratched lightly, absently, against the palms of his hands. He chewed his lips as Sam spoke quietly to him, _and damn do mine look like that when I do it?_ Dean thought. _That’s slightly obscene._ His eyes were red-rimmed, bruised looking, and he was ghostly pale. Gemstone eyes glittered. Dean nearly gasped, and looked away from Jensen looking back at him.

“May I sit?” Dean heard his own voice ask. Well, his voice pre-Hell, anyway. Not having a drink of water for forty years had really done a number, one that even Cas hadn’t been able to fix. He looked back up, better prepared this time. Sam was gone. Jensen had moved closer, was waiting patiently for Dean’s answer.

“Uh, yeah, of course. You don’t have to ask, kid.”

Jensen smiled. “That’s what Sam calls me, too.”

“It was rough living your life. You’re tougher than you look.”

Jensen looked down, embarrassed, saving Dean from the forest fire in his eyes. He’d seen some startling variations in the brown eyes of omegas, but Jensen’s took the cake. He supposed his own eyes were nice, though. They had been, at least.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” Dean said. “I don’t know how to go about this, or, uh, if there even is a right way, you know? So, if you wanna know something, just ask. I ain’t mad or anything, okay? This wasn’t your doing, that’s for sure.”

“Whose is it?”

“Alastair’s. I don’t know what you and Sam figured out on your own, what he might have told you, but Alastair’s got a hard-on for the us’s of the universe, and that one, yours, whatever, switched us. Some pay back for Sam killing the one here, the demon, among other things.” Dean paused, fiddled with a stray spoon on the table just for something to do, something to look at other than raw, exhausted omega. But he had to tell it. “Jensen, Alastair was drugging you. Making you sick, or, er, more crazy, or whatever. You and. And Jared, too.” He saw Jensen flinch at the name and hated where this was going to end up.

“Yeah…” Jensen replied, nodding to himself almost sadly. “I mean, I suspected, after being here and everything wearing off, feeling better without all of it. I’ve started remembering… Being Alastair’s patient, what—he would—what…happened.”

“Yeah. I can relate. But Jared—” And Dean had to swallow hard around the name, around the ache in his throat. “Jared didn’t know what Alastair was doing, didn’t know it was making things worse for you. Not that, uh, not that he did everything right, not that he treated you as well as he should’ve, if you don’t mind me saying so. I know, I know,” Dean cut him off as Jensen opened his mouth to defend his mate, to defend their life, their customs, their world. “It’s a whole different set of rules over there. Trust me. I get it. I had to live it, too.” Dean pointed at his eyes. “But you… Me. We were treated like an animal. Jared loved you. I know he did, okay? But he was blinded by it, and so afraid of losing you he put you through hell to keep you close to him. That’s…”

_That’s what I do to Sam._

“I’m not easy to love, Dean. I’m surprised he didn’t just leave me.”

_Like Sam’s left me so many times._

“Well, you and me both, kid. Your friend Charlie, she’s a real ass-kicker, though. I wouldn’t have made it if it wasn’t for her.”

Dean told his story, most of it, around Charlie. He knew Jensen knew he was holding things back, but the omega didn’t press him for details during his tale. Sam came back to check on, well, both of them, Dean decided, and stuck around for a few minutes listening to the part about Dean finding Charlie’s Alpha in Kansas, and then he surreptitiously disappeared again as Dean told an even more chopped up version of the ending. Jensen told him Charlie had to have given the gun to Jared. It was illegal to own one, but Alastair had acquired it somewhere and Charlie had shown it to Jensen once. Picked the lock on the cabinet.

“She must’ve have gone back and told Jared what was going on,” Jensen said.

“I wish she hadn’t. Or, I don’t know, I wasn’t doing so great, but if. If…”  _Jared would be alive. I’d be dead. I wouldn’t be here. Jared would be alive._

When Dean had finished as much as he could tell without it being pried out of him, he waited, his heart racing, his stomach hollow. Jensen studied his own hands for a moment, then those eyes, spitting ruby and sapphire and emerald, glistening with unshed tears, found Dean’s.

“Did you love him?”

“Jensen—”

“Don’t lie to me, Dean. I just want to hear it.”

“I didn’t really have a choice. Do you? Love…my brother?”

“Yes.”

“That was fast,” Dean chided even has that hurt in his throat threatened to choke him.

“Can you blame me?”

Dean said nothing. His own face gave him his own knowing smile. Then, “Jared bit you, didn’t he?”

“Shit. Yeah.”

“Tell me how he died.”

Dean put the spoon down and looked at Jensen finally. “Bravely. Went down fighting. Said… Said he loved you. That he was sorry. For me to find you, make sure you’re okay.”

Jensen squeezed his eyes shut but the tears came anyway. Dean half expected them to be little rivers of crushed crystals. Jensen put his head down on his folded arms. The sound of muffled sobs made Dean shift uncomfortably, but he went to Jensen’s side after a moment and patted his shoulder awkwardly. Jensen lifted his head, wiped his nose on his sleeve and leaned into Dean’s touch.

“I should have gone back. I should have been with him.”

“You’d be dead, Jensen. The building was coming down around my ears.”

“Maybe I should be dead.”

“Don’t say that, kid. You’re not responsible for any of this. Fuck, if anyone is, it’s me, okay? There’s a whole sea of things I should’na done, but I did anyway, and I’d probably do them again because I’m just that kind of guy. You and Jared, Sam, you all got the short end of my fucked up stick. Goddamn, I can’t… Just don’t think that, okay? Don’t say it, don’t believe it. You would have died, and nothing you’ve done makes you deserving of that. Jared died fighting for you, he wouldn’t have wanted you to go down with him. Okay?”

Jensen nodded, shaking under Dean’s hand.

“Um, Jensen, can I ask you something? Why, well, why didn’t Jared shoot Alastair in the first place? I mean, if he hadn’t gotten so close to him… He just, he coulda shot him if he was gonna kill him anyway.”

Jensen’s gave a little laugh, sniffling. “Pride, probably. Biology. Alpha’s fight. It’s kind of a social norm. Usually, if one beats the other one they leave it at that, bruised ego, black eye. But Jared would’ve killed him with his bare hands if Alastair hadn’t…hadn’t poisoned him. Did it…did it hurt, do you think? You came back covered in his blood.”

“Nah,” Dean lied, thankful for all the practice. His vision seemed funny. Graying. “It was over quick.”

“I’m glad you were there with him, Dean. Thank you for not letting him die alone.”

Dean felt like his feet wanted to trade places with his head. His face went cold, his hands, too, numb and tingly, then his legs simply gave out and his knees hit hard. Jensen caught him as he dropped, knocking the chair over as he went down with him, keeping him from smacking into the floor with his face. His vision fading, blurring, blackening, his last sight was of Jared coming into the room.

_Not-Jared._


	17. Chapter 17

**Brothers**

 

Dean woke up in heat. His cock was hard and leaking, the ache in his bones earlier was now a fever, an itch that made him want to peel his skin off to get to it. His thighs were wet with slick and somehow he could still smell Jared. Taste him, feel him, hear him. No. That was Sam talking somewhere in the house.

 _Need_.

He staggered to the bathroom, stripped, and threw his saturated clothes into the shower and crawled in on top of them, turned the water to nearly freezing, and huddled in the bottom as the icy needles distracted him, like, one percent.

 _Why this? Why now? Goddammit. Wish Bobby’s panic room only locked from the inside._ Dean tried to keep his thoughts moving along, but the moment he stopped forcing them they went their own course. _Need. Mate. Alpha. Breed. Filled. Knotted. Open. Empty. Present. Fuck. Need._

He’d read about it, reluctantly, when there seemed to be no way to avoid it. Dean groaned, remembering, fearing, terrified.

_‘A male omega’s heat will last upwards of thirty days if not bred and knotted by an Alpha male or saturated thoroughly through long term genital contact by an Alpha female. He will be more docile than usual in the days leading up to full heat, resisting confrontation and sleeping more than normal. The first days of heat may be distressing for the omega and their Alpha if they are bonded as the omega experiences fever-like symptoms, including a rise in temperature and body aches. They are not sick and there is no chance of bodily damage. They may appear mentally incoherent and unable to meet basic needs such as feeding and bathing, and care should be taken that they do not starve themselves. An unbonded omega may present itself to any Alpha it comes into contact with and it is the right of an Alpha to mate with an unclaimed omega even if a permanent bond is not established.’_

Dean wanted to run, at least superficially. What he really wanted was his Alpha. He wanted to open his eyes and be in the house he shared with Jared. Wanted his mate to fuck him through this, to take care of him.

 _Not your fucking mate, idiot. Besides, you’re here now. And he’s_ — _he’s dead. Saw him die. Dead, and you just gotta deal with this. Don’t wanna deal. Gotta. Just find a room with a lock on the door. Order pizza. Make Sam pay for it. Sam. Fuck. Sammy. Just go, Dean._

He shut the water off and clambered out.

_Still too fucking hot._

He didn’t know what to do with his clothes, couldn’t really care what to do with them, so he left them in the tub and wrapped a towel around his waist. He paused at the door and listened. Nothing.

_Good, alright. Get some new clothes outta the duffel. Make it to Bobby’s room? Smells like tomato soup in there. Ugh. Um, another room next to his. Full of books. Whatever, figure it out later. Just. Go._

He made it as far as the top of the stairs. Sam was there, blocking the way. It wasn’t an accident, a coincidence, Dean knew that immediately. Sam was waiting for him.

“H-hey, Sammy,” Dean stuttered and tried to side-step around him.

It wasn’t going to be that easy.

Sam didn’t move. Like a fucking boulder, he just stood in Dean’s way, staring down at him. He’d been out in the yard. Dean could tell by the scent of motor oil and dry, South Dakota dust floating somewhere around his knees. He could smell _Sam_ , too, and he swallowed hard, gagged a little as his stomach shot up into his throat.

“That looks new,” Sam said, eyes on Dean’s left shoulder.

“Wha—oh. Uh. Nah.” Dean put his hand over the bite mark, over Jared’s mark, and rubbed it nonchalantly.

“I know what it is, Dean.”

“Oh, okay, then. Fine. So what? Get the hell outta my way, Sammy.”

“You let him claim you?”

“Fuck off, okay? I don’t wanna talk about any of it. No, actually, I didn’t _let_ anything happen to me! I did what I had to do, and then half the time I didn’t have a choice, and I fucking fought, but shit happens, doesn’t it? Now, _move_.”

“You’re mine, Dean.”

“What? The fuck, Sammy, just go away, okay?”

“You’re _mine_. My brother. _Mine_ , and you let someone else fuck you. Should have been me, Dean, you should have let me have you. Wanted you, my whole life.”

“The fuck are you talking about?” Dean shouted at him, shouted to cover up the eager whine he didn’t want Sam to hear in his voice, could swear was loud enough in his head to be heard anyway. “You’re my brother, Sam! That’s fucked up.” _Not ‘I don’t want you’?_

“Fucking who says?” Sam shouted back, threw his arms out wide, made himself impossibly bigger. “Who would we hurt? You took care of me my whole life, why not one more thing? Why not _love me_?”

“I do,” Dean promised, and it hurt his chest to think Sam could ever believe otherwise. “My baby brother.”

Sam dropped his arms, lowered his head, pinned his gaze on Dean’s mouth. “So much more now. Want you. No one else can have you.”

Dean took a step back. Not the direction he needed to go in, but he had to fight the current of his blood trying to drag him towards Sam. “I-I-I’m not yours to keep, Sam. I’m not Jensen. I’m not a damn pet!”

Sam grinned, and Dean wanted him to have fangs. “He’s more than that, Dean, you know he is. He’s a blurry version of you, and you both belong with me. Home is with me, you said so yourself. Your heart is already mine. You sold your fucking _soul_ for me. Give me everything else.”

Sam was edging closer as he spoke, backing Dean into a corner. Dean would have never let this happen on any other given day, but he just couldn’t _think_. Sam’s citrus peel scent was making his mouth salivate, his nearness had Dean’s body humming. When he closed his eyes, Sam became Jared in the void, and his cock jumped under the towel. A thin drizzle of slick had made its way to his ankle. He opened his eyes, and Jared—no, _Sam_ —was right there, the air between them unbearably thin.

Dean tried hard to resist everything his body was telling him needed to be done, what his racing pulse was begging for. He thrust his chin up, squared his shoulders, tried to make himself as large as he could in the little space he had.

“What, Sam, what are you gonna do? Huh? Rape your own brother? I didn’t have a choice, Sam, dammit, don’t you understand that? These fucking things, Jensen and, and Jared, they aren’t like us! Everything they are, it fucks with us, messes us up in the head! You should have sent him back, you know that? He’s making you into a monster, Sammy, goddammit, _Sam, don’t do this_!”

He had to guess Jensen had shown him, couldn’t believe it was just instinct that made Sam reach up and pinch the back of Dean’s neck, vice-like.

“Down,” Sam growled, pushing. Dean wanted to go, wanted to be on his knees for the Alpha male in front of him, every skewed hormone and impulse in his body was crying for it, begging, but he fought. He didn’t even know why he was fighting now, but he did it anyway.

“Get the fuck off me! I’m not your fucking bitch!”

He hit hard into Sam’s ribs and his little brother grunted but he kept coming, shoving Dean backwards until he slammed into the wall.

“Sammy, please, fucking _don’t_!” was all he could say after that, clutching at his brother’s wrists, seeing stars. Sam gripped his throat high up and Dean felt himself lifted onto his toes. “ _No_!” he screamed.

Jensen’s body crashing into Sam’s from the back knocked the wind out of both of them and Sam staggered, dropped Dean and turned on Jensen with a roar. Dean slid down the wall, biting his tongue as he landed on his ass. He looked up just as Sam swung on Jensen, connecting with a sickening crack that sent him reeling backwards. Sam moved towards Jensen even as he skidded across the floor.

Dean sprang, tackling Sam at the knees, bringing him down. He scrambled for a choke hold, barely holding on as Sam flung them around, rolling and yanking at Dean and it was like wrestling a bull. Sam dropped his weight backwards and Dean had his air crushed out of his chest again as Sam landed on him, but he held on. Jensen appeared, his nose pouring blood, his eye blackening already, but he jumped on Sam’s chest, grappling for his arms. He managed to pin one under his shin and wrestled the other up and away from Dean’s arms around his neck.

“ _Alpha_!” Jensen yelled in Sam’s face, dripping blood onto both brothers. Sam’s body jolted and then he went limp. Dean held on anyway.

“Sam?” Jensen’s voice quivered when he spoke again, and then he let out a little sob. Dean felt Jensen pry at his arm and he cautiously released the bar across Sam’s windpipe. Sam gasped and coughed, but he leaned up, letting Dean out from under him. Dean scrambled away. Jensen had Sam’s face his hands, and neither looked at Dean as he got shakily to his feet.

“Go, Dean,” Jensen said softly. “Lock the door.”

He tumbled downstairs and into the nearest room. The one Sam and Jensen were sharing. Sam’s scent slapped him like a bad dive into deep water. He wanted to retreat, but he could hear his brother and Jensen in the hall. Dean locked the door, then he pushed the desk in front of it. Collapsing onto the bed, he wept until he couldn’t keep his eyes open.

It was night when he woke to a soft knocking. A cool breeze came in the window, swept over him, did nothing to ease the fever in his bones or dissipate Sam’s scent from the room.

“Dean?” Jensen called. “Will you let me in?”

“Leave me alone,” he groaned even as he got up. Skin too tight, dick half-hard, he scrounged in the darkness and pulled jeans on and moved the desk back slightly to crack the door. Jensen was alone, and Dean couldn’t be alone. The omega wasn’t what he wanted, what he needed, but the desire to be simply near someone was too powerful. He edged the desk out of the way and let him in. Jensen closed the door carefully and even locked it again behind him, but now that he was in the room, Dean’s heart began to race and he backed away.

Jensen put his hands up. “I’m not going to hurt you. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“So fucking far from okay and you know it,” Dean said from the bed, having gone to the farthest corner of the room. Jensen approached him slowly, hands still up. As Dean’s sight adjusted he could see the black eye Sam had given Jensen, that his eyelid was swollen, but he must have iced his nose because it didn’t seem too bad. “How about you?”

Jensen shrugged and sat on the edge of the bed. “I’ve had worse.”

“From Sam?”

“No, of course not. Jared and I could get rough.”

“Yeah, I got that. He put my arm in a splint for awhile. Thing is, Sam wasn’t playing around.”

“You guys have fought before. Sam told me.”

“Not over him wanting to fuck me.”

“You want it, too, though. Why fight?”

“Listen, you little shit, Sam is my baby brother and I know things are all skewed where you’re from, but here, we don’t do that.”

“Why not? Sam’s right. Who would it hurt? You want him, he wants you, why not let him be your Alpha?”

“Jesus christ, Jensen, get the fuck out of here.”

“You’re just hurting him by denying him. What he did out there wasn’t right, but it wasn’t really his fault. An omega in heat—”

“I’m _not_ —”

“Yes, you are, both an omega and in heat. I can smell it. This is your first one, isn’t it?”

Dean just glared at him.

“It’s hard for Sam because he’s so close to you already, feels like you belong to him. He’s sorry he attacked you, but he doesn’t know anything about how to court an omega ready to breed—”

“ _Goddammit_!”

Jensen just smiled at Dean’s rage. Inexplicably, he got up and started searching around the room, his jewel-like eyes glinting in the dimness. He eventually picked up a flannel that was somehow better than the others he had to choose from on the floor and, twisting the top off a half-empty water bottle, kneed his way across the bed towards Dean.

“You still have my blood on your face,” he pointed out, wetting the edge of the flannel.

“Don’t,” Dean said. Thought he said, at least, thought he’d commanded it rather harshly, even, but Jensen paid him no mind.

“Close your eyes.”

Dean obeyed him.

“Good boy,” Jensen murmured, and Dean wanted to shove him away, off the bed, but couldn’t. Like he’d felt with Charlie yesterday—a week ago? He hadn’t calculated the time difference yet and damn he hoped he hadn’t gotten her in trouble, hope she’d made it to her Alpha, that she could heal herself from what had been done to her, maybe even help her Alpha somehow—Dean felt suddenly like he wanted to curl up with Jensen and go back to sleep.

“Shh,” Jensen noised, though Dean was sure this time he _hadn’t_ spoken. The gentle swipes of the soft, damp cloth on his cheek and jaw and down his neck were wonderful to feel; tender, a lover’s touch.

“I could,” came Jensen’s voice, very close to Dean’s ear. “I could take care of you, help you through this. Charlie and I used to do it when we were at the Inn. No fucking, not sex, not really. Just touching. You hurt, don’t you?”

“Mmhm,” Dean managed. “Ache. Bones, muscles, head. Balls.”

Jensen chuckled, the exhalation of his breath kissing across Dean’s ear. The cloth had been replaced by Jensen’s fingers. When, Dean had no idea. His fingers, his without the calloused tips from prodding at Baby, from feeling up his gun, from sharpening knives and digging in, holding on, fighting; Jensen’s touch was tracing along the bones of Dean’s face, pressing the tense muscles of his jaw, sweeping along his cheeks and brow, brushing the tension little by little from him until Dean could open his eyes again.

“It’s cruel biology to use pain as sexual motivation,” Jensen mused, “but what you do here is worse. Using pain to work out the frustration. You fight, you and Sam. Hurt and push and punish yourselves instead of finding pleasure in each other. You sacrifice yourselves over and over, put yourself and each other in harm’s way to prove your love and loyalty, but you never give each other any solace. He wants to see you happy. Safe. Not to quit hunting, but the times in between, you could be together.”

As if charmed, Dean swayed. Between Jensen’s sugared voice and his stroking hands which had moved away from his face and down to his shoulders and arms, he was like a reed in the wind. He could see Jensen, see his fire-lit eyes. They never left Dean’s face, never flinched or looked away, even as Dean stared. Jensen licked his lips, tongue gliding across his upper lip and Dean watched it, moved his head with it, fell forward a little when it disappeared, and kissed him. Their lips met, teeth scraped once, tongues flicked together.

“Sorry. Just too adorable,” Dean said, tasting the ice cream. Wanting the orange soda.

Jensen grinned. “It’s criminal, I know. Lean back. Feels good?”

“Better.”

Dean leaned against the wall and Jensen scooted closer. He kissed Dean again, close mouthed, but he lingered, rubbing his lips against Dean’s, peppering the corners of his mouth with little pecks, then followed his finger’s path along Dean’s chin and jaw, along his neck. Dean knew where he was going and let him, but he couldn’t help the gasp when Jensen found his scar. Jared’s mark. Wet, a dab of Jensen’s tongue. And then pain. Jensen bit down. Not hard enough to break the skin, but he held on as Dean arched and tried to wrench him away. Laughed against Dean’s flesh when he failed. Tossing, Dean didn’t notice that Jensen had straddled him, was in his lap, legs spread wide and riding him as Dean bucked. Then Jensen rolled his hips, crushing his hard cock into his and Dean froze.

“Didn’t fight Jared like that, did you? Can’t. It’s in their saliva, all Alphas, know that? Chemical reaction, hits our blood and makes us theirs. Forever. Changes our chemistry. Belong to him. We both do. We’re brothers that way, Dean. Share something inside us. You didn’t want to be there, but you stayed with him, did enough to make him love you. Didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Dean breathed. “Just thought, what about Sam? What would I do for him?”

“You would love him. You _do_ love him. You gave it to Jared. Give it to Sam. He knows the difference, knows who you really are, and he wants you, needs you.”

“Jensen, why do you care so much? Aren’t you… You and him?”

“I want him to be happy. He’s not. Not without you. Whatever makes him happy, that’s what I want. I can only do so much, the best I can, but I am not you, Dean. I can’t be you, no matter how dark it is or how many times he calls me your name while fucking me—”

“Fuck, what, no.”

“Yes, yes, yes. More than once. I know he loves me, and part of the reason he does is because I don’t care that he does that. Not even ‘don’t care’. I just want him, whatever he is, whoever he is.”

“But isn’t that, like, just because of what you are? Because he looks like Jared?”

“You and Sam are so obsessed with free will!” Jensen leaned back, settling down on Dean’s thighs, his soft hands roaming over Dean’s chest, finding and caressing the muscles along his ribs, too forceful to tickle. “Who _cares_? I don’t. I just want to love Sam. I want him to love me. I love Jared, but he’s dead and even before I knew that, I knew I couldn’t go back, but that didn’t mean I didn’t love him, or that he didn’t love me. Because we are ‘these _things_ ’,” he emphasised, quoting Dean back at him, “does that mean the way we love, the intensity we feel, is less real than what you feel?”

“I guess not. No. I shouldna said that.”

Jensen curled a little, hands sliding behind Dean’s lower back to massage the bunched muscles there, pulling and kneading with the heels of his hands. Dean groaned, head falling back against the wall, hands limp at his side, palms up.

“Don’t think I’m not wrecked about Jared,” Jensen said, lifting his head and brushing his lips against Dean’s jaw. “I’ve just had longer to mourn him than you have. I knew I was never going to see him again before I knew he was dead. But, Dean, I would have gone back if that’s the only way you could have come home. Because Sam loves you. Jared was happy. Enough. With me, with our life. He only put me through what he did because he wanted me to be well. Given the chance to make Jared happy and Sam, too, by giving you back to him, I would have. Being able to stay with Sam _and_ get you back—”

“Look,” Dean interrupted, pushing Jensen away. “I get it. I don’t blame you for not jumping back on the crazy-train. You couldn’t have known what I was up to, and, honestly, I’m glad. Okay? Glad you were here for Sam. And you have my blessings, or whatever. Just. I. He’s my kid brother.”

“It’s amazing how alike he and Jared are. Isn’t it?”

“You’re not going to be able to convince me. You want to hear it? Fine. Yes, I fucked Jared. Or, he fucked me. Lots. And I enjoyed it, eventually. He reminded me of Sam, sure. And you know what? I thought about Sam when Jared was doing it.” Dean wanted to take a deep breath, to calm his heart and cool his blood, but that must’ve been Sam’s shirt Jensen had used on his face. Smeared Sam’s sweat on him where he could smell and taste and almost _feel_ it. He went to scrub his hands on his cheeks, to wake himself up, focus. Ended up just touching fingertips to his skin. He glared at Jensen. “But I did it because I was scared, because I missed him. I was afraid and all I had to keep me from going off the deep, deep, _deep_ end was thinking about him. Needed to. _Had to._ To get home. There was fucked up shit going on over there and you know it, and I did the best I could.”

Dean said all of this through clenched teeth, undoing all the soothing work Jensen had done, but Jensen merely reached out and started again, brushing along Dean’s brow, around his eyes, and the pressure there released an errant tear. Jensen leaned in and kissed it from Dean’s cheek, and when Dean suddenly grabbed his forearms and flung him backwards, Jensen let him. He landed with a little ‘oof’ on his back, and Dean pounced. He ripped Jensen's shirt off over his head and slapped his hands down on Jensen’s shoulders, pinning him, and shoved his legs apart and up, forcing them open with his own thighs.

“ _You_ ,” Dean said, and if Jensen had known more about demons, about Dean’s time in Hell, he might have been concerned at the way Dean’s eyes were shadowed, at the joyless grin that suddenly claimed his face, but he did not. All Jensen knew was sex and violence, love and rut, heats and insanity, and he was in his element, was not scared of Dean. “You are as screwed up as me. Pain makes you feel sane, fucking makes you feel more in control. You brought Sam and Jared both down to your level, into your fucked up world, because it was better than being alone. Can’t be alone, can you?”

“Why would I want to be? Do _you_?”

“I have my brother. And now, apparently, I have you. Blurry version, that’s what Sam said, hear that, too?”

Jensen nodded. Dean supposed he meant it to hurt, but Jensen was unshakable. His hands were moving again, nails dragging down Dean’s thighs lightly and he pushed his chin up. Exposed his neck.

“I see that,” Dean scoffed, his dick choked up awkwardly in his jeans, aching. “Present for just anyone, won’t you? Maybe I’m not the omega everyone thought I was, huh? Maybe I could fuck you just as good as Sam. I know how I like it, probably the same as you like it, think of that?”

Jensen laughed outright at him. “You think that, but you’re not like me, to quote you. Jared wasn’t the big puppy he seemed most of the time. He would have expected things from you I think you would rather have died than done.”

“Dunno about that. Like what?” he asked, looking down between their bodies to where Jensen was plucking at his buttons, working them open.

“Like to see me in girl’s clothes. Panties, stockings, skirts.”

Dean’s mouth twitched, curled into a smile despite himself. Jensen giggled in delight.

“Really, you? Dean Winchester, tough guy extraordinaire. In panties. That’s hot.”

“What else you got?”

“Liked to feed me.”

“Food is good.”

“Knotted. In his lap at the table, wrists chained to my collar. Spoon feeding me. So fucking hard to concentrate on chewing with his dick in me, but he’d punish me later for every bite I dropped. Or he’d fuck me, lock us together, and make me drink until I was ready to burst. You know that feeling, where it’s past the point of needing to go and it is just this pressure…so full it makes you hard, feels fucking good after a while?”

“Uh. Yeah.”

Miles of road had passed under Baby’s wheels with Dean hard, full bladder long past urgency and just radiating _pleasurewantrelease_. He’d never really thought about it until now, but Sam could go just as long between stops. Sometimes longer.

“Make me piss on myself. On him. Roll me into a ball and make me drink it.”

“Fuck.”

”You’re getting messy.” Jensen had won his way into Dean’s pants, had his cock out.

Dean looked down, but cut back up quickly, away from the stream of slick he was leaking onto Jensen’s belly. “Can’t help it.”

Jensen smirked. “You missed out, having your first heat without Jared to take care of you. He was such a tease. Would have you begging for him to fuck you, knot you, let you come. You’d be willing to do anything, shameless—lick his sweat, eat his ass, and Jared would love you for it, but still make you wait. The first knotted, mate-bonded orgasm in your heat, Dean? Fucking amazing. The love you felt for him before is like nothing compared to that moment. Like he just saved your life. But, funny, Sam’s already done that for you so many times, hasn’t he? Saved you. Could save you now, too. Imagine it, having all that already inside you, everything he’s done, and having his cock in you, too, feeling how much he wants you, how much he loves you. What do you _want_ , Dean?”

“Jared,” he said without hesitation.

Jensen laughed, a sound of disbelief and pain that Dean had to stop once he heard it. He kissed Jensen. Tasted tears.

“Can’t have him. What else do you want?” Jensen persisted, nipping at Dean’s lips, cupping his balls, working his jeans down over his hips.

“You?”

“I’ll fuck you if you want. It won’t be what you need.”

“Just. Just something. Need to feel.”

“I know how that is. But, I dunno. It’s just your heat talking now,” Jensen teased.

“Fuck you. Little shit. Fuck me or get the fuck away from me.”

“You’re a terrible omega. Begging should come much more easily.”

“Begged your boyfriend. Fuckin’ wanted that.”

“Supposed to make me jealous? He thought you were me. Can’t be jealous of myself. But Sam—”

“Jensen,” Dean growled, but Jensen’s hand, covered in Dean’s own slick, palmed across his mouth. Dean sputtered and jerked back.

“Fucking bitch!”

“Sam begged for _me_ , Dean. He wants _me_. Is so fucking sweet to me.”

“Yeah, to _you_.”

“Shouldn’t have fought him, is all. He is very sorry. He wants to leave.”

“What, no!” Dean said, then bit both lips closed.

Jensen grinned up at him, but didn’t pursue it. Instead he groaned a little and arched under Dean. “This is so fucking weird! Stroking a cock that feels just like mine and not feeling it myself. Lemme behind you.”

Truth be told, Dean didn’t have a choice. Jensen was stronger than him for one thing and easily pushed Dean away, and Dean was slipping. He just fucking ached so _bad_. Like his bones were trying to contort inside his skin, like his muscles were pulling taut to the point of snapping. The mere notion of having someone touching him, holding him, was enough to give in to.

Jensen slipped out of sight, circled him, slid his hands around Dean, palms pressing and rubbing so wonderfully against his chest. Jensen’s now naked body was a balm against the pain as it melted against his. Nails scraped lightly down Dean’s flesh, fingers curled into the waistband of his jeans and he wiggled to help free himself, the material prickling his skin.

Jensen was like butter on a burn. He was soft and smooth and everywhere once he had Dean naked. Making little noises of pleasure and encouragement, humming into Dean’s skin, licking, kissing and sucking and Dean was gone. There were no more thoughts, no more complaints or accusations or denial. Jensen guided Dean’s hands out and flattened them on the wall, knowing he’d need to hold himself up. He knuckled into Dean’s back, into the muscles there, working in ever descending circles until he was back at the firm swell of his ass, and then he used his own hands to hold himself as his tongue lapped along a trail of slick up Dean’s thigh.

Head hanging, eyes closed, Dean didn’t react, so Jensen went deeper, seeking out and finding the source. Puffed and sensitive, Dean’s hole twitched as Jensen licked it, and when Dean actually arched, offering it to Jensen, he latched on. Tugged at Dean’s sac, stroked his cock, spread his thighs apart more, and Dean’s hands slipped down the wall and were soon on the bed, and then Dean’s face was between them, his ass up and open to Jensen’s mouth and then his fingers and then his cock.

“Not what you _need_ ,” Jensen said again, pushing in with one hard thrust ’til his hips were sealed against Dean, his cock buried. “ _Is_ _it_?”

Dean had no words. His body was a furnace and his brain was cooking inside of it. White-hot. His eyes closed; he could see sunshine, liquid gold, was blinded. Jensen’s cock inside him burned, leaked boiling water into his belly, was suddenly making everything _worse_. When Jensen pulled back the first time, Dean’s hand flew to his hip, tried to keep him still, afraid there would be blood, but Jensen caught his wrist, twisted it behind Dean’s back and forced him down.

“Learn the hard way,” Jensen mused into his ear. “There’s only one thing that will make you feel better. And only one person who can give it to you. He wants to. Not just because you’re in heat. He _loves_ you.”

“Loves,” Dean repeated. Sam loved him. Jared loved him. Even when he wasn’t Jensen, when he was bad, when he’d fought, he’d been loved.

Jensen was crashing his hips into Dean’s, slamming his cock in hard, panting with the effort, still holding Dean’s arm behind him, pinning him.

“What do you want, Dean?”

“Wanna come,” he slurred, praying it would help. That it would ease the inferno raging inside him.

“Can’t do that for you,” Jensen said, his free hand snaking around between Dean’s thighs, across his belly, everywhere around his drooling cock. “It’s not gonna work. Not gonna feel good if I touch it.”

“Please!” Dean begged. But Jensen was right. As soon as his fingers curled around it, Dean squealed. He thought he should hear his flesh actually sizzle as Jensen squeezed him. Jensen gave a soft laugh and let him go.

“You need to cool down, baby,” he murmured. “Tell me what you want.”

“Alpha,” Dean moaned. Just the word itself was some relief. His stomach untwisted and Jensen gave breathy grunt as slick flooded Dean’s body.

“I can bring him.”

“No. Jared.”

Jensen dug his nails into Dean’s thighs. “Fuck you!” he snapped, too loud. Sam might hear. Might come. Dean whined. Jensen spit, “Stop fucking saying his name. _You can’t have him. He’s dead. Jared is dead_.”

 _Because of you,_ Dean heard. He knew. He knew it was his fault. If he’d planned more, tried harder, fought better, Jared might still be alive. Jensen shook him, but Dean didn’t struggle. If the omega wanted to kill him right now, he wouldn’t struggle. Wouldn’t resist. He deserved it.

_Always fucking ruining everything. Look what you done to Sam. Encouraged him to be a killer. Kept him close, too close, never his own man. Now he wants… Just give it to him. Give him anything he wants. Ruined him, might as well go all the way. Don’t make him suffer. Give him everything._

“What do you _want_ , Dean?” Jensen demanded.

“Sam.”

Whatever he thought was going to happen next, Jensen fucking him until they were both shaking, limp and wrung out, dripping with sweat, was not it. Jensen had him squished in the corner by the time he fell away, gulping air like a half-hanged man, and Dean was in tears. The hurt, the fire, the ache, had returned fourfold as Jensen fucked him, had become all-consuming and agonising and all Dean could do was sob.

“Shh,” Jensen soothed, wiping at his tears and dragging him out of the corner and into his arms. Dean rolled onto his stomach and buried his face into Jensen’s ribs, into the mattress.

“Hey, c’mon,” Jensen giggled.

But Dean wouldn’t budge. Couldn’t face Jensen. Couldn’t see himself. Was not himself. Was something else entirely. Something monstrous and wicked and empty. Greedy and self-indulgent. He knew what he was going to do and he despised himself for not getting up and sticking a knife in his eye. His fucking omega eyes, demon-flecked.

Jensen was petting him again, humming under his breath, and Dean could hardly breathe in the space between Jensen’s body and the mattress, but he slowly calmed. Or at least his thoughts quieted. Disappeared. His body was still a riot, but at a distance now, like a burning city block seen from the sky. It was going to get out of control again, soon. And then the world would burn, and he would be with his brother like he’d imagined before. Could he still be a hero?

Somehow, sleep found him. He didn’t feel Jensen slip out of the room. He didn’t notice the door opening, closing, opening again. Jensen’s lips finally stirred him. He felt a little trickle of wet on them and he opened to it, thirsty, and Jensen let the water flow from his into Dean’s mouth. Another sip passed between them and Jensen smiled down at him. Dean rubbed his eyes and thought he might have smiled back. Then he saw Sam. He was kneeling next to the bed, hands on his thighs, head bowed, tilted, watching the twins with a preternatural gleam in his fox-eyes.

“No, it’s okay, Dean,” Jensen said as Dean shot up and started heeling himself back, away from his brother. “He’s not going to do anything you don’t want him to. I’ll protect you, I promise. We just want to show you something.”

What happened next was a nightmare. It was awful and confusing. And perfect. Stupefying. Jensen, his spinning eyes on Dean the whole time, leaned back. Sam caught him, rising onto his knees. His arms encircled Jensen, arched him back over his shoulder. Broad, strong hands roamed Jensen’s body, and he and Dean made the same sound when they caught, gripped, stroked over Jensen’s hard cock. Dean couldn’t not _be_ Jensen. Couldn’t not see himself mirrored there in his brother’s arms, aroused and on display.

“Come here, Dean,” Jensen said, lifting his head, holding his hand out. “He won’t touch you. Just me.”

“Hurt,” Dean managed, frowning, remembering.

“I know, baby. It’ll be different this time. He changes everything. Come see.”

The world tilted, forced Dean to scoot closer. Jensen twined their fingers together and drew Dean up into a kiss. Dean could smell his brother now. Fresh, wet, cold. Jensen’s mouth was filled with Sam’s flavour, was whipped cream over mandarin oranges like his mom used to give him for a snack. There were too many hands on him suddenly and he wanted to back away, but one was behind his neck and the pressure quieted him, eased his mind and he let Jensen kiss him and let Sam’s hand hold him.

“Nice, hm?” Jensen whispered against his cheek, then stroked a hand down Dean’s face. “Still so hot. Wanna make it better?”

Dean could only nod from his pyre of shame and lust and he couldn’t keep from seeing Sam, from Sam seeing him. On his knees, hard and leaking and lost. His brother might have been smiling, he might have had fangs, but his face was in Jensen’s shadow. Dean knew he was being watched. He was the one being hunted now.

“Fuck,” he said, soundless against Jensen’s mouth.

“Me, first.” Jensen pushed Dean back, laid him out on the bed and crawled next to him. Sam followed. When he stripped his shirt off and his jeans down, Dean made a small noise. He couldn’t help it. Conditioned, he wanted that body on him. Knew what it was capable of, how it felt over him and in him, that Jared could make him feel so good.

But it was his other body that Sam touched, Jensen’s back that his hand caressed, not Dean’s skin that was kissed from shoulder to tailbone, but he felt it anyway. Already _knew_ what it was like.

Jensen went down onto his elbows and nuzzled his face against Dean’s, ran his teeth along his jawbone, nipped at his ear and then gasped loudly into it when Sam’s fingers curled and slipped inside of him.

“He’s gonna put his hand in me, Dean,” Jensen whispered, the words rough and distorted as his lips brushed over Dean’s ear and his breath sounded in the shell. “Gonna let me come like that. Do it for you, just gotta ask him. Tell him you want it.”

Dean shook his head and rolled away. Jensen let him go and two pairs of pleasure-blown eyes watched him as he pressed himself against the wall. Half sitting up, he could see them both now, see his own body arched and open. Could see Sam poised over him, see where his little brother was slipping easily in and out of Jensen’s ass, three fingers, knuckles-deep and pushing for more. Sam’s eyes grazed his and Dean shook his head. He could see Sam’s smile this time; that cocky half-grin that made Dean so fucking mad when they were growing up, because Sam always thought he knew better, and he was almost always right and _goddammit_!

Jensen was panting now, loud, as Sam twisted his wrist around. When it happened, Dean wanted to close his eyes, but even if he had, the sound that came out of Jensen’s throat would have made him jealous anyway.

Sam swiped his tongue slowly around his wrist where it was being clutched by Jensen’s hole and the omega keened and his cock emptied, so easy. Sam didn’t stop. He pushed in further and then pulled back, setting up a quick, brutal pace that kept an almost steady stream of come flowing from Jensen’s swollen dick.

“Beautiful,” Sam said.

The sound of his voice was what broke Dean. He touched himself. He had to. Maybe. Maybe he could do it, reach that spot inside. Maybe he wasn’t as, as _changed_. Maybe he wasn’t just another Jensen, maybe there was still something different, normal, human to him. He bent his knees and slid his fingers in a tight ring under his balls, around his cock, shifting them out of the way, and he pushed inside his ass. It didn’t hurt. It never hurt anymore. He was made for it. It felt good, it felt _awesome_ , actually, but what he was getting out of it wasn’t what Jensen had. He wiggled down, tried to reach in deeper, but he wasn’t flexible enough.

“Sam! Sam, wait, oh,” Jensen pleaded, trying to push himself up on watery arms. “Let me. Help him.”

It took a minute for Sam to let him go. He withdrew his hand with a wet little pop, but when Jensen tried to move towards Dean, who was still, still two fingers buried in himself and fucking _trying_ , Sam grabbed his hips and swung him around. Jensen landed almost in Dean’s lap, face-first. Open mouthed. Swallowed down Dean’s cock, cheeks hollowed, tongue whipping around, and Dean cursed. When Jensen’s fingers found, fought, removed his own and replaced them, plunged in deep and _perfect, that’s where it is, what I need, oh_ **_fuck!_ ** he couldn’t have said his own name with a knife to his throat. But Jensen was a tease. That became apparent as Dean only got so high, so hard. Leaking but not coming, _god, I want it, please, please!_ Jensen either wouldn’t or couldn’t push him over the edge.

Sam was pushing Jensen. Shoving him forward, his head down, his mouth more onto Dean’s cock. Without thinking, just needing _more, fuck, anything, so good_ , Dean helped him, put his hand over Sam’s on the back of Jensen’s head and pulled. Sam exhaled, an excited breath that jumped from his throat at Dean’s touch. His hand glided onto the back of Dean’s. Held him there. Sam’s long fingers separated Dean’s, spread them, his slick-sticky thumb curled around Dean’s wrist and Dean didn’t care. He couldn’t want it, but he didn’t care. They were all so fucked. So fucked up. So wrong and weird and he was fucking his own mouth while his brother watched, and this was Hell, and fuck, third time’s a charm.

“Fuck me, Sam, please,” Jensen hissed suddenly, throwing his head back, lips wet and his breath all Dean’s slick and heat.

Dean had seen his brother’s hard cock. Now, and way before now. Felt it even. Kids, sleeping together, stupid pee-boners poking each other. Shuffle-to-the-john morning wood, even caught Sammy mid-wank at the computer, had crowed laughter and back-peddled. And he knew it was big. Knew it was like Jared’s. Sammy was big. Fucking moose. Shit. But this. _Seeing it_ against his own body, watching as Jensen arched and let Sam slide it along his ass crack, just seeing it without it being meant for him, without that mental scramble he’d gotten used to with Jared, knowing where it was going next—

“Christ, Sammy.”

Both Sam and Jensen looked up at him. Jensen’s upper lip curled for all the world like a possessive Alpha’s and he bucked. Sam was the one that gasped this time as Jensen impaled himself to the hilt.

“Want this, Dean?” Jensen growled. “Fucking _ask_ for it. Be _good_.”

 _He’s_ **_my_ ** _brother. Doesn’t belong to you. Mine first. Always,_ his brain snapped off.

“Fight you for it,” he said, mocking, baring his teeth back.

“No,” Sam said. “Shut up, Jensen. You won’t hurt him, Dean. I don’t care what happens, but you two won’t fight.”

“Aw, little brother, I’m just teasin’,” Dean responded, his voice a shiver. Whatever Jensen felt, he’d not stopped wiggling his fingers inside, against his prostate. “Should see his face, though. Little fucker’s all covetous.”

“Knock it off, Dean.”

Dean got pissed. “You knock it off! Both of you. Fuck. Fucking comin’ in here like this. Taking advantage of me is what you’re doing. Getting your fucking rocks off, huh, Sammy? I thought I fucking told you ‘no’ already?”

Sam stilled. He lifted Jensen away from Dean, pulled him back into his lap, but Jensen kept moving, kept writhing against Sam, legs spread wide, daring Dean to ignore what was happening, to not watch the thick length of his brother’s cock slip in and out of him. He pressed his hands down over his belly and Dean remembered Jared.

“Damn both of you,” he said. He felt like the top of his head was going to come off. He was too hot, too wet with slick and sweat and Jensen’s spit. His cock hurt and his balls were worse. He wanted to sleep and closed his eyes against the lovers experimentally, but it was like that one time he’d eaten some bad acid— _fucking Don and his shitty drugs_ —and he’d lain awake for hours and hours, anxious and rushing with adrenaline and this was way worse than that.

“I feel fuckin’ sick.”

He heard mumbling, couldn’t make it out.

“Jus’ leave me alone,” he groaned, _but when was the last time anyone listened to me?_

That it was Sam touching him he knew instantly. Only his Alpha’s palm would be so cool. Feel so good.

 _My_ **_brother_** _,_ he thought. Said out loud.

Sammy laughed quietly. “Yeah, that’s me. You’re gonna be okay, Dean. I’m really sorry. About hurting you before. Scaring you.”

“Didn’t.”

“Yeah, okay. Still. I am. I just want to help you.”

“More’n that.”

“Dean. Please? You don’t have to be like this. _We_ don’t have to be like this. Be closer. I love you.”

Sam was so close— _not close enough_. The room was unlit, the night moonless, but Dean lived his life in the dark and could see his little brother’s face perfectly when he couldn’t stop himself from looking. The soft blue ambient glow from distant streetlights and stars—and maybe Dean’s eyes were a little different, more sensitive now—made Sam seem so young. Unlined, unscarred, and fuck, how hard Dean had tried to keep Sam that way. He had lied to him for years about what their father was doing when he was gone. Had protected Sam at school from bullies and bad girls. Fought with him to drive him from their life when Dean found out there was a chance Sam could escape being a hunter. But he’d never protected Sam from _him_. Dean tried now, even though he knew it was too late. He was too weak and exhausted and confused, but he tried anyway. “You’re right, I would do anything for you. Not this. Please.”

“I want this. I want you.”

Dean’s stomach hollowed out. “Fuckin’ _why_?” he cried. Put his hands over his face and amended through his palms, “No. No, I don’t wanna know.” His hands fell and he looked up at Sam again. “Okay. Give you anything, you know that. Won’t change us?”

With an emphatic, solemn shake of his head, Sam promised, “It won’t. I feel the same as I always have. Need you. Always. Let me in, Dean.”

“Do it, okay, Sammy? Just. Don’t make me _ask_.”

“We’ll go slow, I won’t do anything you don’t want. I can stop,” he said, echoing Jared almost perfectly.

Dean closed his eyes. So many times he’d wanted Jared to be Sam, had thought that it would somehow be better if it was his little brother close to him, on him, in him. Now it was actually happening and he wanted to die. Wished he’d died there with Jared. Wished he could spare Sam this.

“Fuck. Oh—” he whispered, and Sam kissed him. Carefully, gently, working his tongue against Dean’s teeth until he opened them, then it deepened and Sam was swallowing him, breathing him, _making_ him breathe, forcing air from his lungs into Dean’s until he was light-headed, living on Sam’s breath, drinking down his sweet saliva, his burning body finally finding surcease in the shadow Sam’s form cast over him.

Sam tugged on him, moved him, laid him down. Jensen was there, on his stomach, head on his folded arms, smiling, looking for all the world like a cat. The one who’d dragged the mouse in and knew it was only playing dead. Eyes like campfire sparks in the night sky, hooded and sultry, giving away nothing, just watching. Waiting. Even his smile was misleading. It had to be after the way he’d snarled at Dean only moments ago. But one hand came out, long nailed and gentle, and brushed Dean’s cheek.

His little brother settled next to him, Dean between him and Jensen. Sam draped his leg across Dean’s thighs, knee slightly bent. A fence, Dean knew, to keep him from trying to flee. He wanted to. Being watched like this was unnerving. Sam leaned in close to him and Dean tensed when Sam’s lips brushed along his throat but he instinctively, humiliatingly, tilted his head back. Gave Sam his throat.

“You smell like Halloween,” Sam said.

“W-what?”

Sam pushed his nose into the pulse point behind Dean’s jaw and opened his mouth, licking, inhaling, his hand coming up to press on Dean’s chest as he stirred, uncomfortable. Aroused.

“Halloween,” he repeated. “Like. Like Jensen said; like smoke. Wood stoves burning. But…candy, too. Or, I dunno. Caramel? Like a caramel apple.” He suddenly snapped his fingers. “Hey, you remember that fair we stumbled into in Lacombe when we were kids? I was fourteen, I think. Dad got drunk and we ditched him at the bar, hittin’ on that hot Creole chick?”

“Guy,” Dean corrected automatically.

“We never did find out, huh?” Sam chuckled. “But there were all those bonfires and you bought me this huge-ass caramel apple. I couldn’t eat the whole thing and you finished it. Think you wanted it more than me.”

“Maybe I did.”

“That’s what you smell like. Like that night. Like fire and caramel apples.”

“You’re fuckin’ killing me, Sam.”

Sam laughed, but he understood. Knew his big brother couldn’t take the kindness, couldn’t deal with the memories. “Don’t wanna talk? Okay, fine.”

A giggle, and when Sam leaned across Dean and kissed Jensen, Dean could have happily murdered them both. He _did_ want. Wanted to reminisce, wanted to be silly, wanted to be brothers and hunters and wanted everything back the way it was. Especially that, but this second he wanted what Sam was giving to his lover. Their lover, if he was honest with himself. Wanted the kisses, touches. Wanted.

“Sam?”

It must have been asking. Had to have been a plea. Maybe all the ‘I love you’s and ‘please’s and everything else he could have said, _should_ have said, had he not been too fucking scared and proud, were all wrapped up in that one word. His brother’s name.

Sam was on top of him in an instant. Words didn’t matter, Dean realised then. Actions mattered. Everything they did for each other. That mattered. That made them brothers. That was love.

His body limp, pliable, it was easy for Sam to hook his knees up around his ears, curling him almost into a ball. Dean’s hands shot up, slapped into the wall, pushed back to hold himself still. Sam was bracing his whole weight on Dean’s thighs, and he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, could only look up at Sam as he slid his long cock through the mess of slick between his legs, wetting it, moaning low in his throat as he did. The push inside felt dirty and slow and perfect.

 _Alpha!_ his body exalted. _Sam_ , his broken heart cried.

His little brother had his head down, hair hanging, watching where he was fucking into Dean.

_Need to see him, see his eyes._

So many times he’d thought of them. Watching Jared, wanting him to be Sam, sometimes it had worked, until Jared had looked back at him and it was all in his eyes. Sam’s clever eyes, wily and too-innocent. Gentle. Jared had never had to hide his weaknesses from anyone.

“Sam,” he said again with no voice, no air, just a pain-shaped breath punched out of him by Sam’s thrusts. When he looked up, met Dean’s eyes, Dean saw something in them that he’d seen before but never recognised. No, he had. He’d known, and denied it. And now Sam looked more like Jared than Dean could deal with. He almost said it. Almost submitted. His hand covered his mouth. Sam ripped it away.

“Lemme hear you.”

“God, oh god, Sam.”

He said more. He said what he didn’t want to say. Things he couldn’t take back, words that were embarrassing and true and confused because of his heat and because when he’d finally come on his little brother’s cock and his impossibly long, curled fingers, painted his own chest and chin and Jensen had cleaned them both with his tongue and that had got Sam going all over again, Dean still wanted it. Had to have it. His brother. Only Sam made him feel whole. Alive. Like he didn’t need to die. Would want to, later, he realised briefly, watching Sam fuck Jensen in a chair across the room when Dean simply couldn’t handle being touched anymore and Jensen had pulled Sam away to let his brother recover. Would definitely want to kill himself, probably even should. When he needed Sam again, when the fever had faded for a little while only to come back in force and he’d begged his brother to never stop touching him, no matter what, whining when it had to happen, when he was separated from him, he knew he’d never be able to forgive himself.

Dean opened his eyes to a stained ceiling on the fifth day of his heat. He smelled food. Bacon and hamburgers and eggs and he could kiss Jensen for being handy in the kitchen. Could kiss Sam, he was so close. Asleep, eyes moving around behind his closed lids, lips together, breathing evenly in and out through his nose, his long body stretched out along Dean’s, one of his hands curled over Dean’s bicep. Dean stayed still, on his back, and watched his little brother sleep. He felt better this morning. Evening? Whenever. He didn’t ache so much. Didn’t feel like he was going to fly apart if Sam didn’t touch him, like, _now_.

He did kiss him. Pressed it to one expressive eyebrow. Sam didn’t wake up, but he smiled. Dean got out of bed. He threw on clothes that hadn’t been pushed onto the floor when Sam had fucked him on the shelf—or had Jensen been on the shelf and Dean standing? Rutting their cocks together while Sam had one or the other of them from behind.

_Fuck. Whatever._

“Hey,” Jensen said.

“Hey. Oh my god, food. You can stay after all.”

Jensen made a face at him, but brought a hot pan to the table and shoveled food onto a waiting plate in front of Dean. “Hungry, huh? Heat’s wearing down quick for you, I guess.”

“Fuckin’ hope so,” Dean said, cheeks stuffed with some kind of glorious breakfast hamburger thing on sourdough english muffins.

“Is it really so awful?”

“Jensen, don’t start with me,” Dean growled around a mouthful.

Jensen sat down and waited until Dean had shoved the food down his throat before speaking again.

“It’s not going to last, is it?”

“Fuckin’ hope not.”

“Not—I mean. You and Sam. Us. This last week.”

“What the fuck? There’s no ‘us’, okay? I cannot stress that enough. Hey, jesus christ, kid, don’t _cry_.”

“You’re fucking mean.”

“Goddamnit. Look, I’ve been awake for like two minutes. _I don’t feel good_. You should be able to get that, at least. Just, forget it. I didn’t mean to, you know, be mean. Man, fuck this. Sonofabitch.”

“Sam needs you, Dean.”

“Yeah, like he needs a fucking hole in the head. Just don’t. I’m not going anywhere, alright? He’s my brother and I’m not gonna leave him. Anything else… It’s not supposed to be like this. Don’t you understand that?”

Jensen shrugged. Dean was starting to hurt again. Sam would—

“I just wish it would _stop_ already. _Fuck_!” he snapped, slapping his hand down on the table.

“Dean? Jensen, what’s the matter?”

“Nothin’, Sammy,” Dean said, standing quickly and moving away from his brother. Out of the kitchen. Out of the house. Away from Sam and his fucking mimosa breath and his perfect cock and Jared and he just needed to go. Couldn’t keep doing this.

Dean sat down on the porch steps. Not as far away as he’d intended, but his shaking legs wouldn’t fucking listen to him for shit lately. Wouldn’t stand, wouldn’t kick, wouldn’t run. Just opened.

“Hey, Dean. Can I sit?”

“Whatever, man. Didn’t mean to upset the kid in there. He alright?”

“He’s fine. What’s the matter with _you_ , though?”

“Really, Sam? You really have to ask?”

“It could be anything. You’ve got a lot of problems.”

Dean snorted. “Bitch.”

“So?”

“I just. I’m sorry. About all of this.”

“I’m not.”

“Fuckin’ I know you’re not! That’s what’s so bad, Sammy! Somethin’ happened. To us. This is the worst thing ever.”

“How can you say that?”

“Because you. We. I shouldn’t have let this happen!” Dean bawled. He couldn’t help it. It was cry or throw up and that was for that other place. Puking and passing out, a former pastime. In another life.

_Fine, then, crying._

He put his elbows on his knees, laced his hands behind his head, and sobbed. The tears splashed down, snot dripped, and he let it happen. Even the noises he didn’t check, tiny ‘oh god’s and ‘fuck’s.

“I’m sorry,” he said when he could, a lifetime later, a different person now. He stood up and walked away. Of course, Sam followed him.

“Dean, no. Don’t be.”

“I fucked you up, Sammy. More’n Dad did. Than anything. Should’ve left you alone.” He said all this over his shoulder, moving until he had nowhere else to go, until another step would put him out onto the road. He hoped Sam understood.

Sam stopped, one hand out. When Dean turned to face him, Sam said, “I would have found you. Don’t you know that? Got you back, didn’t I?”

“Wish you hadn’t.”

“You wish you would have left me alone?”

“You’re not alone, are you? Got _him_. Got a replacement.”

“It’s not like that. Nothing— _no one_ could ever replace you. You’re my brother.”

“Doesn’t seem like that’s good enough for you anymore.”

Sam’s head dropped, defeated. But: “I’m not going to apologise for how I feel about you.”

Dean closed his eyes. That way he couldn’t see the way to Sam, couldn’t get to him to comfort him like his heart and heat and soul were screaming at him to do. “Sam,” he said slowly, carefully, “you see me, you go the other way until this is over. Until all of this shit is outta me, okay? Then we’ll talk.”

“I love you.”

Dean opened his eyes just to roll them. “Stop fucking saying that!”

“I won’t.”

“Fine, say it to your little pet, then.”

“Don’t do that. He’s not my pet. He is what he is, doesn’t need you to try to shame him for it. Jensen likes you. Wants us to be okay.”

“You go do that then. Go play house with him.”

“Us—me and you, Dean. Can’t be okay without you, jerk.”

Dean had had enough. Sam was too close, too hurt, too much the boy he’d swore he’d do anything and everything for, and he knew—or did he know? He pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes until he saw stars, wishing he could just wring the brown out of them. It had started to fade, he thought. Hoped. A little more green in the left one. He looked several times a day.

“Sam,” he said slowly, blinking away the pressure, “listen to me. I _cannot_ do this right now. I need you to walk away, because I can’t. I fuckin’ can’t, and you know it, so I need you to. You’re my baby brother, and it’s me and you ’til the end, alright?” Sam’s head came up at that. “But I am not me. This is not who I am. I need some serious space, or. Or I might not ever be who I really am. You got me back, yeah. But right now, I’m not your brother. You might think you want this, too, but you don’t. You want me? Then fucking wait for me. For _me_. You get it?”

“Yeah. Okay, Dean. I get it.”

Letting him walk away was physically painful, the heat still coursing through him commanding his body to follow, like a cruel rider lashing at the beast of his body. Dean bit down on the inside of his cheeks and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, Sam was far away. Jensen was with him. Like a moth to a flame, that kid. Sam didn’t look back, but Jensen did, just a quick glance over his shoulder, a lift of his chin and a wisp of a smile. A very, very sad smile, Dean thought, and felt comforted somehow. It wasn’t until the pair disappeared into the house that Dean trusted himself to move. Unrooting his feet, he stalked to his car. Baby smelled blessedly like Armor All.

“My chariot. Get in. Get coffee. Get liquor. Get happy. Don’t trip. Something like that.” He missed Charlie. Needed a friend right now.

In town, he stumbled into two people because he was walking with his eyes down. Out of habit. One of them wanted to get mad at first, then her mouth opened and she leaned in close to him and he just fucking let her. Just stood there, mumbling ‘sorry’ as a soccer mom with a baby on her hip actually smelled her hand, the one she had grabbed his arm with when he’d rounded a corner and nearly knocked her down. She only didn’t lick him like a fucking tootsie-pop because the baby had started sniveling, and she’d shaken herself, glared at him and stalked off, rubbing her hand on her pants. The other person, a bland fellow dressed mostly in grey, had actually crossed the street and stopped in front of him so swiftly Dean only saw the tips of his loafers before he bounced back.

“Uh, hey, my bad,” he started.

The man peered intently up at him. Dean flushed and tried to look away, tried not to breathe in the baked-goods smell the guy exuded.

“It’s fine,” the guy said. “I just thought you were someone…else.”

“Just me,” he said, tried for an off-hand grin.

When the guy finally stepped around him, finally gave Dean a clear path to move forward, he went directly to a sporting goods store and bought two pairs of aviator sunglasses, gold and silver lenses. He’d give Jensen the silver pair. Disguised, he made sure he wouldn’t have to come back into town for a while. For booze, at least.

_Should just get a room somewhere. Drink ’til I feel like myself again. Fuck, will I ever?_

Later, sipping Old Number 7 and throwing rocks at a piece of corrugated metal in the scrap yard just to make as much noise as he could— _can‘t fucking hear myself think, fucking finally_ —he groped behind him for another stone and felt a shoe.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Shit. Startin’ to think you were mad at me, Cas,” Dean said, slurring just a little. He got ponderously to his feet, the hot sun, warm liquor, no food, _heatneedneedneed_ , making his legs numb.

“Not at all. Your eyes are very disconcerting.”

“Man, can we not, with my eyes. I know. Here, alright, better?” He jammed the aviators on his face. When Cas smiled at him— _fuck, the way he smiles_ —Dean knocked the bottle back so fast he clinked it against his teeth.

“Those are nice.”

“Yeah, well, you’re nice,” he shot back, feeling ridiculous and a little giddy.

“Thank you.”

Dean laughed. He bent over at the waist and laughed until his ribs hurt. Castiel was still standing there when he could breathe again, looking at him with both eyebrows up. Dean wiped under his glasses.

“Ah, fuck, that was awesome. Think it’s been years since I did that.”

“I am glad I could be of service,” Cas said tentatively.

Dean drank, still grinning. “Yeah, but is it a _full_ service station?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Nothin’, god, don’t listen to me, Cas. I’m all fucked up.”

“Should I go?”

“No! Fuck. No, man, just, uh, hang out with me for a while. Wanna drink? Nah, okay. I’m not all here, though, kinda outta it. Just. Don’t go.” He pitched another rock at the metal and it rang like a gunshot through the yard. Sam must be getting so annoyed by now. Hadn’t come out of the house, though.

“Hey, didn’t get to thank you before. Helpin’ Sammy while I was gone. That was cool of you.”

“I was more than happy to assist. Sam was very grateful, as well,” Cas said, as if he needed to inform Dean that his brother had the manners to properly thank him and Dean shouldn’t worry that he might have been rude about it.

Dean nodded. “Yeah. Good, thanks, um.” He searched around until he had a handful of smaller pebbles, then winged them against the sheet and grinned again at the hail. He picked up another rock and handed it to Cas. “C’mon, your turn.”

Reluctantly, Cas threw the rock. It banged home and Cas winced a little at the sound, but he found two more rocks and, handing Dean one, they made a game of it. Castiel got into it eventually, purposefully plinking different spots on the metal, getting different tones.

“Are you…tryin’ to make music?” Dean said, figuring it out.

“It could be done with enough practice.”

“You’re so strange,” he said, and meant it, and adored it.

It was nice, being here with Cas. Dean’s heat had faded into the background, an ache made just tolerable by the booze and exertion and maybe it was something about Castiel, or just being in a good mood for the first time in, like, ever. He paused for a moment. Drained more of the bottle down his throat, and watched Cas. Through the tint of his sunglasses, Cas was bathed in gold light. Like the sun was setting around him. Dean’s mouth opened and the words fell out and he pretended later he’d planned it that way, that it hadn’t been just one more wound he had picked at for no good fucking reason.

“You were dead over there, Cas. Well, not you. Jimmy. Still, seemed like you. Enough. Was in love with Jared. Do you love Sam?”

Castiel took careful aim and let fly his last stone. He’d been putting them in his pockets. He turned to Dean, blue eyes blazing in the gold. “Our bond is strong, yes.”

Dean laughed again. The sad echo bounced around the broken cars.

“Figures. ’S fine, You know, he deserves it. Hey, hey, I’ve got a picture of you. Him. Jimmy. Wanna see?” He had the crumpled-cornered pic under Cas’ nose before he could say anything. He went a little cross eyed, then looked up at Dean.

“I can’t see it.”

“Oh. Shit. Right.”

“What’s it like?”

“Like you. Sittin’ in the sunshine. Fucking gorgeous. Cas, can I kiss you?”

“Why?”

Dean laughed again and took another drink. He didn’t protest when Cas took the bottle away and sat it by the tire of the Fury Dean was leaning against.

“Why? Shit, man. I dunno. Because I want to? Because I haven’t gotten to do anything I’ve really wanted to for a fuckin’ long time. Eh, fuck it, never mind.”

“You can.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I would like you to.”

Moving towards Castiel was like starting the climb up Everest, but somewhere between the first step and the second, Dean grew into a giant. Or the world shrunk. Whatever. It all fell away, that’s what mattered. Everything whited out. Dissolved, disappeared. Nothing was left but him and Cas. He didn’t _care_ about anything but him and Cas. And then, really, only Cas. Touching him. He’d never touched anything else in this world or any other that felt so good. One hand on Cas’ chest, he slid the other between collars, over skin, the cool nape of Cas’ neck like silk under his dirty fingers. Dean pulled gently, moving Cas’ head a little to one side, and kissed him. Just a touch of lips, soft and dry and peaceful. Dean held it, held Cas, kept still. Feeling. Reveling in the fact that it wasn’t desperate, that it wasn’t confused. That he could be here, right fucking here with his angel.

Castiel opened his mouth first, his tongue swiping against Dean’s lips, parting them just barely. Dean drew his head back and licked the left-over wetness, tasting the waterfall spray of Cas’ saliva. Sam was right, the angel smelled like flowers. Carnations, he’d said. Dean didn’t know about that, but the smell was faint, wonderful, exotic. He wanted to kiss him again, but he didn’t. For once, he stopped himself.

“’M drunk, Cas.”

“I know.”

“I don’t wanna be. Want to be all here, you know? With you. Wanna be with you. Like, know it.”

“I can make you sober.”

“No, no, man, ’cause right now I need to be drunk, too,” he said, laughed again, at himself, then at Cas when he cocked his head, trying to figure out what was what. “You’re great. Can I just. _Thanks_. For the kiss. Can we do it again? Not now. Soon, though. When I’m all me, you know?”

“I think so. I mean, yes. We can. Kiss again. And by all you, you mean, not an omega anymore?”

“Shit. Yeah, whatever, that whole thing. I still am? I’m not. Am I?”

“I am not completely sure. When Jensen arrived and I noticed Sam changing, I began to feel like I should be offering myself to him. There were a few times I tried to see Sam while you were gone and there was something in the air. Sam smelled very strongly, very different. It made me feel weak. Wanton.”

“W-wanton?” Dean’s face felt hot all of a sudden.

“Aroused. Sexually interested in him. I did not particularly like it.”

“Know what it means, Cas.”

“Oh. The day you came back and I healed you it was very hard not to take you with me.”

“Take me?”

“Away from Sam. Just anywhere. My desire to be with you increased dramatically, but I knew you would want to be with your brother more than me at that time.”

“Yeah. About that.”

“What about it?”

“’S nothing. ’Nother time.” Dean made face. “Maybe never time.”

“Your brother still feels…powerful. The same way you still seem more vulnerable than you ever have.”

“Uh, okay then.”

“You incite vigilance in me. More so than usual. I feel solicitous.”

“Slutty-what-what?”

“Solicitous. Protective.”

“Ah, shit. Everyone wants to dominate me lately.”

“Dominate? No, Dean. However, that often has a sexual connotation to it as well, so it’s not completely off the mark. I am attracted to you.”

“Huh. Like that?”

“Like what?”

Dean grinned. He slipped his palm lightly over Cas’ crotch. “Like that.”

“Oh. Well, yes. Very much. I think I always have been. And I want you to be…okay. To not feel threatened.”

Dean was eyeballing the bottle so Cas handed it to him.

“Thanks. ’M not threatened by you.”

“My point is, Dean, I can wait, if that’s what you want. Gladly. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Fuckin’ better not. Need you, Cas. Can you. Um. Stay? With me. Bein’ around Sam. It’s hard right now. Can’t think. You. You’re not like him.”

“No, Dean, I’m not. I’ll stay with you for a little while. I have a war to fight, you know that. But I can be here for a time.”

“’S good. Thanks. Need you.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Epilogue**

  


Summer wore on and the hormones wore off, eventually. Bobby came back from his hunt, sunburnt and grumpy and with a mild distrust of ice cubes. One look at Dean in the throes of half-heat and withdrawals and another look at Sam nearly climbing the walls while Jensen chewed his nails, and Bobby kicked the latter pair out of the house for a while. Dean had to stay, that was obvious. There was no way he could take care of himself, the state he was in, sweating and pacing the house at night when he wasn’t waking up in the middle of it shouting names—his brother’s, the Alpha’s, Castiel’s.

Bobby threw his hands up internally and buried himself in engine blocks and archaic books when the angel fluttered in with the same intensity as he did when Sam started giving Jensen _that look_ , and Jensen would look right back and they’d disappear for a while. It had only taken one time of stumbling upon Sam and Jensen cooing in an old van for Bobby to start turning up his radio, the TV, to make extra noise when he was out in the back forty rooting for parts, and now he had to keep an eye out for a dirty trench coat amongst the cars so he didn’t have to forget the closeness Dean and Cas had taken up as a new hobby. Jensen was the one who explained to Bobby Sam’s speculation that the residual traces of whatever had been done to Dean, which had first repelled Cas, now seemed to be attracting Cas to him. Bobby had nodded, having his own suspicion that it was simply the straw, so to speak. That Cas and Jensen couldn’t see each other was one of the weirdest things Bobby had ever witnessed, but they all managed.

It took a long time for Dean to turn the corner, but when he finally did, he seemed not too much the worse for wear. Bobby took him hunting a couple of times and Dean went into it with a ferocity Bobby admired and appreciated, even if it was alarming. When Dean finally started sleeping more and taking cold showers less, Bobby let Sam and Jensen come back, but it was obvious Sam wasn’t going to bounce back to normalcy quite so easily, and it was making Jensen suffer, something Bobby was damned if he’d endure.

He took to the kid quickly, finding his lack of sarcasm refreshing, and never bothered to correct Jensen when he accidentally called him ‘Rob’. Bobby tried to keep Jensen busy, knowing Sam and Dean needed some time to find their footing now that the worst was over, at least physically for Dean, but he knew he would never really understand what a mental fuck-up it had all been for his boys. Now Jensen was here and looked to be a fixture in his life, but as much as he enjoyed the kid, he supported Sam’s eventual decision to break away from Dean for a little while so Jensen wasn’t working himself sick over the brothers’ angst, trying to pull them back together, and the resilient, clever omega earned a place in Bobby’s heart for never perpetuating a wedge between Sam and Dean.

Bobby knew what was going on. It was obvious from the get-go, what with Sam’s way-more than brotherly affection for the omega and how Dean would trip over himself to avoid Sam, and Bobby would catch one or the other staring at his brother’s back with a look of grief so intense he was amazed the universe didn’t supply the violin music.

The couple found a house and Bobby was happy to sign for it and happy not to ask where Sam had gotten most of the money up front to give to him for it. And he was _thrilled_ when Cas and Dean finally made it out of the spare room and into the Impala and away on their own for a little while, though he secretly missed his passel of adopted sons getting all kinds of in the way. And he was just a little worried, a few shots deep in the quiet evenings when he didn’t hear from one or the other of them, how this was going to work itself out in the long run. But he knew in his heart it would. There was nothing on this earth or anywhere else that could keep Dean and Sam apart.

 _They made it,_ Bobby thought to himself. They always made it. Things would change and be broken and mended badly or not at all, but the brothers would never give up on each other. That was enough for him.

**Author's Note:**

> As ever, I am the purveyor of run-ons and commas, sue me. This started as a 500 word ficlet challenge. Oops, both hands slipped.  
> If anyone has issues with my handling of mental illness, please let me know in the comments, I'm happy to discuss things.  
> To my readers since the beginning, you guys RULE. Gave me so much confidence to finish this.  
> To any new readers, hello, welcome, enjoy, and comments are /never/ too late <3


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